


THE PASSION TRILOGY: Passion's Captive

by roryheadmav



Series: THE PASSION TRILOGY [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Highlander - Freeform, M/M, Non Consensual, Prostitution, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-05-26
Updated: 1998-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos goes on a search for the missing Duncan MacLeod, but runs into a mysterious prostitute who looks exactly like the Highlander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ADDITIONAL WARNING! There is a particularly squicky scene involving a banana in Part Four. Sadly, it's not a product of my overactive imagination. This was a technique that prostitutes apparently used to titillate their audience during their live sex shows. This method was described to me by a prostitute whom I met during my tour of duty in the hospital. So, yes, brutal things like this do happen in real life.

 

**PROLOGUE**

 

The man dropped down to his hands and knees as agonizing pain ripped through his ass, filling his entire being. For awhile, he couldn't move, panting for breath, caught by the intense tightness of the hot channel between his legs. Then, as the flashing of strobe lights and the hard pounding of rock music reached his pain-filled mind, he suddenly remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

Though still in agony, he struggled to his feet, gripping the pole in the center of the stage. He swung himself around it and continued to dance. But the unexplained constriction of his ass made it extremely difficult for him to move. The mere swaying of his hips caused pain to lance through his body. Hoping to ease his discomfort, he let the crack of his shapely rump press against the pole, sliding up and down in a grotesque parody of a sexual act.

_Damn! _ he cursed between gritted teeth, the sweat trickling from his brow. _Why do I feel like I've just been fucked hard an' some fool left his cock inside me?_

Wanting to keep his mind off the pain, the dancer focused instead on the men he was entertaining. All were leering up at him, howling like mad dogs. The lust in their eyes was unmistakable. One man brazenly motioned for him to approach. Grudgingly, the dancer obliged. He grimaced in disgust as the man pushed a hundred-franc bill into the waistband of his jeans, his fingers caressing the aching bulge at the dancer's crotch. The dancer hated men like him, he hated them all. Most of all, he hated what he had become.

The dancer wasn't like this before. He was a power unto himself. He was a fighter, an aggressor, a cruel lord of women, a killer. But now, he was the one oppressed, slave to another man, who knew that it was only through extreme violence and bloodshed that he could elicit pleasure from the star attraction of his club. He couldn't even fight back, knowing that to do so would lead to death. He truly despised what he was now.

As his hands went up to caress the sweating flesh beneath the loose white shirt he wore, the dancer's fingertips brushed against his hard, sensitive nipples, held taut by tiny clamps that have gold chains attached to them. The chains in turn were connected to the tight ring around his cock. His employer wanted him in this artificially aroused state, to tease the audiences who come to watch him night after night. But with the sudden, strange tightness of his ass, the dancer was aroused to a fever pitch, demanding release that he knew would not come, unless his master freed his tits and his cock from their shackles with his small key. Distracted as he was, he was also easy prey to the vultures in the audience below.

Sure enough, the man who had given him money sensed the dancer's vulnerability. Suddenly, he jumped on stage and swiftly strode towards the dancer's sinuous form. Before the dancer knew what was happening, he was held tightly in the man's embrace.

"Let gae o' me!" he hissed under his breath. _God! Kinsey's goin' ta kill me for this! _ the dancer thought frantically. _Where the hell's Jules?_

As the audience cheered and clapped, the man pushed the dancer against the pole and eagerly tore the young man's shirt wide open. The dancer struggled to free himself, but his hands were pinioned behind his back.

"You've got nice tits, boy," the man muttered in his ear as he licked the taut nipples, playing with the chains.

"GET YER FUCKIN' HANDS OFF ME!" the dancer cried furiously. But the man ignored his cries and his struggles. Eagerly, he unzipped the dancer's jeans, freeing his erection. The dancer gasped as a sweaty hand fondled him.

"NO!" The dancer tried to break free as his tight jeans were lowered to his thighs. Somehow, he managed to raise his knee and bury it into the man's groin. Feeling the hold loosen, the dancer made to run away. The man, however, tripped him that he fell. Luckily, the dancer propped his arms up in time or else he would have landed on his stiff cock. Before he could get away, his rump was raised high in the air.

The dancer inhaled sharply as the man pressed a finger inside the puckered opening of his ass.

"Damn! You're so tight!" the man declared. "I could barely get my finger inside you!"

"STOP IT!" screamed the dancer. "YE'RE HURTIN' ME!"

However, the man continued to prod and push at the tiny rosebud.

As a hard rod touched his anus, the dancer mused in despair, _Is this it then? Am I ta be raped afore a bunch o' filthy sodomites?_

Then, to his relief, he felt the man pulled off him. There was a loud crack of a hard fist connecting with bone, and he saw the man fly into the audience. A strong hand gripped his arm, pulling him up, his clothing yanked into place. The dancer grinned, seeing that it was the Black bouncer of the club, Jules.

"Jules, thank God!" he exclaimed. "Ye're a sight for sore eyes! What kept ye?"

The bouncer swiftly hustled the dancer backstage. "What the hell were you doing up there? Kinsey's furious! You know how he gets when…"

"Whan another man touches me besides him?" the dancer queried. "Jules, I dinna know wha' happened. I…hurt, an' I did no' 'ave the strength ta get away from him."

"Where does it hurt?"

Though it embarrassed him to say so, he answered softly, "Ma ass."

Jules frowned. "Did Kinsey…"

The dancer shook his head. "No, except for the tit clamps an' the cock ring, he did no' put anythin' else on me."

"Before the dance," the bouncer asked, "did he…he didn't…use…you?"

"Dinna be such a gentleman, Jules," the dancer snapped at him, exasperated by all these questions. "Kinsey did no' fuck me, though I feel like I was." The dancer saw the Black man turn his gaze away. Feeling remorseful for being so abrupt, he muttered, "I'm sarry. But ye know wha' I am."

Jules grimaced. "Oui. It doesn't mean, however, that I approve of this. You know that I care about what happens to you."

"I understand," the dancer nodded.

Soon, the two men stopped at the Manager's Office. The bouncer hesitated at the doorway. "He's waiting for you."

"I know." Smiling at the Black man reassuringly, he said, "Thank ye, Jules."

At these words, the bouncer opened the door for him and he went inside. The dancer glanced nervously at the figure seated in the swivel chair, the back turned to him. The man was eyeing the monitors before him, showing the stage of the club.

"Kinsey," the dancer began hesitantly, "I cad explain."

"This had better be a good one," the man answered icily.

The dancer hated the way he stammered over his words, his fear of his employer obvious in his tone of voice. "I was hurtin', Kinsey. There's a sharp pain in ma ass. It still hurts up ta now. I was tae much in pain tha' I cad no' get away from him."

"Is that a fact?" Kinsey stood up from his seat. He was tall, towering above the dancer by a good one foot. Muscular, heavy of build, his hands clenched and unclenched into tight fists. His mustache twitched in displeasure as he walked around the table and went towards the dancer.

"'Tis the truth!" the dancer insisted, terrified by the sight of those huge fists. "Do ye think I wanted ta be touched by tha' son o' a bitch? Ye know I cannae bear ta be touched by any man!"

"And that includes me, doesn't it?"

Defensively, the dancer replied, "I ne'er meant ye, Kinsey. Ye know tha'."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" There was an angry flash in Kinsey's eye. Before the dancer could get out of the way, his employer struck him hard in the face that he had to grab the desk's edge to keep from falling to the floor. Dazed, he barely felt Kinsey come up behind him and bend him over the table, hands yanking down his jeans. His wrists were gripped tightly.

Knowing what the man intended to do, the dancer begged, "Please, Kinsey. Dinna do this ta me. I'm no' lyin' ta ye. I swear I feel ill."

"Then prove it!"

 

A scream was wrenched from the dancer's throat as Kinsey thrust his hard cock into the opening of his aching anus. The young man breathed hard, trying to relax so the entry wouldn't be so painful. But he was so tight that Kinsey couldn't penetrate him.

"How did you get this damned tight?" he heard his cruel employer gasp. The dancer was relieved when Kinsey pulled away…until he felt blunt fingertips poking him. He broke out in a cold sweat. He knew what was coming next.

 

A few minutes later, Kinsey pulled his fist out of the dancer's ass. The young man couldn't move. At first, he thought he was going to die at the brutal way Kinsey pounded his fist into his tight channel. Just as suddenly as the pain appeared earlier, it suddenly vanished. But the sudden relaxation caused his employer's fist to bury deep inside him that he cried out. Then, the agony was replaced by such mind-blowing pleasure, though the cock ring prevented him from pouring out his release. Feeling the throbbing ache in his penis, the dancer wanted to weep. Why couldn't he feel pleasure without the pain tearing into him first?

The dancer winced as Kinsey slapped his bleeding rump.

Grinning at the young man before him, Kinsey said, "I guess you were right after all. Damn, I never knew you could get so tight. If that happens again, come to me at once. I'll loosen it up for you."

_Bastard!_ thought the dancer in anger. He gazed up into his employer's eyes, hoping he looked cowed enough. "Kinsey, I'm really verra tired. I wad like ta gae home. Please?"

"You do look terrible. Very well, you may go," Kinsey waved his hand dismissingly, going back to his desk.

Placing a hand over his taut nipples, the dancer queried, "Cad ye take these off?"

To his dismay, Kinsey shook his head. "No. I might drop by early in the morning. I want you prepared for me."

"Kinsey, I beg ye!"

But his employer simply looked at the papers on his desk. "I'll see you later then. Don't worry! I'll bring the key."

Seeing that his employer wouldn't free him, the dancer sighed wearily and went out of the office, heading for the dressing room.

As he entered, his fellow strippers turned and looked at him. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Unable to endure their scrutiny any longer, the dancer declared angrily, "Wha' the hell are ye lookin' at? Dinna ye 'ave anythin' better ta do?"

At these words, everyone went back to what they were doing. But there was one who couldn't hold back a retort.

"At least we dance and just take our clothes off!" he snorted in disgust. "We do not sell our souls to the devil, like one of us is doing."

Ignoring that comment, the dancer took his towel and headed straight for the bathroom. Opening the shower, he leaned into the cold stream, letting the water wash away the traces of his defilement. He didn't even notice he was weeping.

When he came out of the bath, the dressing room was empty. Quietly, he donned a pair of loose slacks and a silk shirt, stifling the gasp in his throat as the soft fabric brushed over his sensitive flesh. Putting on his jacket, he slung his bag over his shoulder. He then went out the back way and strode into the dark Paris streets.

Somehow, the dancer just found himself taking a different route. He couldn't understand why, but something inside him was urging him to go somewhere. This bothered him immensely. This was not a good place to be at night.

Soon, the dancer reached a dark alleyway. At the chain link fence at the end, he could hear soft sobbing. Cautiously, he made his way inside and paused, seeing the weeping figure slumped on the pavement.

Then, the man in the alley gazed up at him. The dancer felt his heart stop in shock, recognizing him at once. Even the man was just as stunned. The last thing they both wanted was to see each other again. Noting the sorry state of the man before him, however, it suddenly dawned on the dancer why he experienced that agonizing pain earlier at the club. He should have known they were still bound together. He thought he was free…well, free of him at least. But then, the man certainly didn't look like a threat to him now.

"Ye 'ave certainly made a mess o' things this time." He tried to sound reproachful, but he couldn't. The dancer felt a tug in his heart, a reaction that was alien to a killer like him. Or maybe he just deluded himself into thinking that he had lost his capacity to care when, in actuality, it still existed inside him. On the other hand, why shouldn't he care? He had never seen the man look so lost before.

Despite his apprehension, the dancer raised a hand to him. "Come! 'Tis no' a safe place for both o' us!"

For a moment, the man hesitated. The dancer understood why. The last time they met, they had fought fiercely. But now was not the time for fighting. The man must have seen that he had no desire for a quarrel. Hesitantly, he took the dancer's hand, and he was pulled to his feet. The dancer placed his arm around the man's waist. To his surprise, the man even laid his head on his shoulder.

"Let's gae home!" the dancer whispered gently.

The man's answer was a soft sigh.

The dancer placed his jacket around the shivering form and led him out of the alley. As they walked through the streets of the city, the dancer held on protectively to his companion, praying that he would not bump into someone who knew him. If they were seen together, it would spell disaster for both of them.

Thankfully, their trek was uneventful. Soon, they reached the dancer's modest flat that Kinsey had gotten for him. However, it was only when they were inside and he had bolted the door that he felt safe.

Carefully, the dancer removed his jacket from the trembling young man.

"Ye look awful!" he commented with a grimace. "Ye've no' been takin' care o' yourself, 'ave ye? Has the gym business gone bad? Not tae many oiled masculine flesh ta whet yer imagination?"

But the man didn't answer. He just gazed at his surroundings with fear in his eyes.

"Come wi' me," the dancer said, rather offended by the blatant distrust in his companion. "Maybe a bath wad do ye guid."

He took the man's arm. At first, there was hesitation, then his guest allowed him to be taken up to the second floor. The dancer took him to the spare room.

"Wait here," he ordered, going into the bathroom to draw a warm bath for his guest. The dancer went to his room and took out a clean shirt, slacks, a towel and a bathrobe from his dresser. Going back to the other room, he laid the shirt and slacks on the backrest of a chair. Slinging the robe and towel on his arm, he motioned to the man, who stood very still in the middle of the room.

"Ye're obviously in no condition ta care for yourself," declared the dancer. "Let me tend ta yer needs."

His guest gazed at him suspiciously. "Why would you want to do that?"

Putting his hands on his waist, the dancer pouted. "Any reason why I sud no'? I dinna know wha' happened ta ye, but I do know tha', wha'e'er it was, ye caused me a terrible night at the club. Are ye gonna let me take care o' ye or no'? Ye know damned well tha' I cannae allow anythin' ta happen ta both o' us!"

Though apprehensive, the man followed his dubious host inside the bathroom. When the dancer began unbuttoning his shirt, he quickly grabbed the wrist.

"I could do it myself." He tried to sound strong, but it came out as a whisper.

"Sure ye can!" the dancer commented mockingly. "Dinna gae shy on me. I know verra well wha' ye've got hidin' under these clothes."

Before his guest could argue, the dancer swiftly stripped the shirt off. A frown formed on the dancer's brow at the sight of the bruises and bite marks healing slowly on the other's chest. The man snatched his shirt back, pressing it over his body. He closed his eyes when the dancer yanked his jeans down. The man waited for his host to utter a retort. However, there was only silence. He waited and waited, tears of shame trickling from the corners of his eyes, knowing full well that the dancer had seen the blood on his rump and thighs.

Unable to control himself, he demanded, "Well, aren't you going to say something?"

"Get into the tub, but dinna sit down," ordered the dancer. Meekly, the man obeyed him.

While he washed the blood and semen from the buttocks and thighs, the dancer asked the inevitable question, "Wha' happened ta ye?"

"I was raped…" the man began grudgingly, feeling strong hands bid him to sit down into the warm waters of the tub.

"I cad see tha," the dancer interrupted.

"…sort of." He barely heard that soft conclusion to his guest's reply.

"Wha' do ye mean 'sort of'? Who did this ta ye? The fellow must 'ave had remarkably poor taste ta want ta fuck yer prudish backside like this."

"You know damned well who it is!" was the bitter retort.

The dancer thought for a moment. Much to the man's dismay, he burst into gales of laughter.

"Are ye talking abou' him? Are ye tryin' ta tell me ye somehow got the nerve ta get him ta bed ye? Wha' did ye do?"

"I… I've been seducing him. He said he wanted to see me as Juliet." The man lowered his eyes. "It kind of backfired on me."

"Ye can say tha' again! Sa ye dressed up like tha' bloody virgin from Verona!" Giggling, he said, "Haven't ye learned yer lesson the last time ye wore tha' dress? If I knew better, ye were askin' ta be raped. Ye liked it didn't ye?"

The man stood up angrily from the tub. "We both know who the perverted one is between the two of us. Never, ever make the insinuation that I'm like you. I could never be like you. I hate you so much!"

"Well, the feeling's mutual! Ye fuckin' hypocrite! Dinna gae aroond blamin' me for yer bloody insecurities. At least I had the courage ta act on ma passions!"

"Yes," the man hissed, "and you got me gang-raped in the process!"

The dancer grinned smugly. "I thought ye liked Merchant? How was I ta know he was goin' ta bring company? I cannae verra well let ye miss ou' on all the fun. Wha' kind o' person wad I be?"

"YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"

"AYE! THE SAME WAY YE HAD RUINED MINE, AN' NOW I'M GOIN' TA MAKE YE PAY FOR IT!"

Hearing that threat, the man jumped out of the tub and ran out of the bathroom. But the dancer caught him before he could get out of the bedroom, tackling him to the floor.

"Let go of me!" he cried as he struggled to break free.

The dancer gripped him by the hair and dragged him towards the bed. He quickly secured the man's wrists and ankles to the bedposts, gagging his mouth with a scarf.

"Haven't ye e'er wondered wha' became o' me?" the dancer asked the man he had trapped beneath him. "Let me show ye!"

Saying this, he tore off his clothes, revealing the chained nipples and cock. Somehow, it didn't surprise the dancer to find bruises on his body, remarkably similar to that of his guest. Laying his full length over his captive, the dancer muttered, "Because o' ye, I am now a whore! I dance for men who wad want ta stick their rods inside ma mouth an' ma ass. I despise ye for makin' me this way – weak, defenseless."

The dancer leaned on his haunches, straddling his prisoner's legs. With a lascivious grin on his face, he stroked the man's hips.

"Ye know?" he began. "I like ye this way. So helpless. I cad do anythin' I want wi' ye an' ye wad be powerless ta stop me."

A muffled "No!" escaped the man's lips as he struggled with his bonds.

"Maybe I sud take yer cock in ma mouth, or I cad ride ye. Or maybe I cad take ma ain rod an' stick it up yer arse. Choices! Choices!"

Unconsciously, the dancer gripped his erect penis and was stroking it furiously, the head dripping with pre-cum. There was a shocked whimper. Gazing down, he saw that his captive was staring in horror at his own cock that was rising between his legs. It seemed as if the dancer was fondling the other man's penis.

"Do ye like wha' ye see?" the dancer queried. "Nay! Do ye like wha' I'm doin' ta myself…an' ta ye?"

At these words, his hands went up to his chest. Pressing the trapped nipples between his fingers, the dancer pinched and pulled on the tips. Sure enough, he saw his captive's tits jut up into tight nubs, assuming the same rose red color as his clamped nipples. Tears began to fall from the man's eyes.

"Dinna weep!" the dancer whispered, leaning down to kiss the full lips. He licked the tears away. "I only want ye ta feel pleasure!"

The man turned away in disgust.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Slapping his prisoner's face lightly, he said, "Just relax, ma friend! I'll be back, once I've seen ta ma guest." Winking, he added, "Ye'll know whan I'm done."

The dancer laughed as he walked out of the room, ignoring the frantic cries of the man on the bed. Running down the stairs, he swiftly opened the door and leaped into the arms of Kinsey.

"Wha' teuk ye sa long?" he murmured sensuously.

But Kinsey let him down, eyeing the flat warily. "There's someone here."

"Wha'? Another Immortal? Now, why sud I be havin' an Immortal in ma flat? Come on, Kinsey! Ye an' I know verra well tha' ye get this buzzin' sensation in yer head whan ye've had tae much ta drink."

"And I have you to blame for that, you little minx!"

The dancer pouted as he peeled Kinsey's coat off his shoulders and down his arms. "Are ye still angry wi' me? Kinsey, ye know ye're the only one for me. Ye're the only mon who knows how ta give me pleasure." Removing his employer's shirt, he whispered, "Cannae ye see how much I ache for ye?" He then let the points of his taut nipples tease the Immortal's broad chest. The dancer took Kinsey's beefy hand, wrapping the callused fingers around his aching erection.

Kinsey embraced the dancer, plundering that exquisite mouth with his lips and tongue. "You just drive me crazy, you know that?"

"I know," the dancer replied. "I know."

 

 

Inside the master bedroom, the dancer writhed in the Immortal's arms. Kinsey had removed the shackles on his sensitive flesh, only to torment them with his mouth and teeth. Already, the dancer's nipples were bleeding from the bite marks and the hard suckling.

"Please, Kinsey," the dancer begged him. "'Tis no' aneuch! Ye know wha' I need! Please give it ta me!"

A gasp escaped his lips as Kinsey struck him hard in the face. Blood began to flow from the corner of his mouth. The dancer smirked.

"Is tha' the best ye can do?" the dancer taunted the Immortal

He cried out as Kinsey drove his fist into his belly. At once, the dancer instinctively began to fight back, but the Immortal pinioned his wrists above his head, spreading his thighs with his knees.

The dancer screamed in agony as Kinsey penetrated him with no gentle preparations at all. Kinsey's huge cock tore his flesh, scraping his tight channel raw.

"Harder!" he cried. "Fuck me harder! Rape me! Make it rape, Kinsey!"

And the Immortal eagerly did as he was told.

The agony of their coupling seemed to last for hours. Still, Kinsey did not relent. He was certainly up to the challenge presented by his exquisite whore. Already, Kinsey could feel the tremors in the body beneath him gradually increasing. He then quickened the pace of his hips, ramming his penis hard and deep into the younger man's body. The dancer was screaming in agony. At the last thrust, Kinsey couldn't hold back anymore and he came. As his semen spilled into his lover, the dancer cried out in ecstasy, spurting his fluids all over their bodies. When he pulled out of his lover, blood flowed freely from the battered orifice.

The dancer kissed Kinsey tenderly. "Thank ye, Kinsey!"

 

 

At dawn, the dancer suddenly woke up to the sudden, painful constriction of his ass. As he staggered up from the bed, an anguished cry pierced the red fog in his mind. Swiftly, he went to the guestroom and opened the door.

Kinsey had his guest pinned beneath him. He was pounding his fist into the tight channel. The man was screaming, shaking his head frantically, tears falling from his eyes.

Seeing him, the man cried, "Help me! If there's any compassion in you, please help me!"

Hearing that plea, the dancer picked up the heavy crystal vase on the table. Taking three long strides towards the bed, he smashed the glass over Kinsey's head. As he fell dazed, the dancer pulled the Immortal's hand out of the man's battered ass. He then removed the ties on the man's wrists and ankles and hauled him to his feet. To his horror, he saw blood begin to stream from both their bodies.

Grabbing his trenchcoat as well as the bathrobe, the dancer wrapped them around their naked bodies.

Running down the stairs, they heard Kinsey roar, _"Come back here, you sons of bitches!"_ Though it chilled his blood to hear that shout, the dancer hustled the man out of the flat, stumbling onto the sidewalk.

Thankfully, a taxicab was passing by. Hailing it, the two men quickly got into the backseat. The dancer barked an address to the driver. As they drove off, Kinsey emerged from the flat.

_"You can't hide from me!"_ he yelled, waving his fist furiously. _"I'll find you! You hear me! I will find you!"_

"What was that all about?" the cab driver queried. "I don't want to get into trouble."

"Just shut up and drive," the dancer snapped at him.

When they were a long distance away from the flat, the dancer pulled the man closer to him.

"How could you let him do this to you, to US?" the man in his arms wept bitterly.

The dancer was about to say "I want you to suffer along with me!", but he couldn't. Neither of them deserved that kind of treatment, most especially the innocent man in his embrace. He never intended to drag him back into the ugliness of his world. Now, the dancer had to be strong for both of them, though he knew, unlike his companion, his chances of survival were very slim.

Tears welled up in the dancer's eyes. "I don't know, Duncan," he answered at last. "I really don't know."

 

**CONTINUED IN PART ONE.**


	2. Part One

 

**PART ONE**

 

"Bastard!" Methos cursed under his breath as he drove through the Paris streets. Grimacing, he rubbed his aching jaw. "Who'd ever thought that that grizzled old Watcher had a mean right hook? BASTARD!"

The ancient Immortal had gone to see Joe Dawson at the new Watchers Headquarters, hoping to catch the Watcher before he returned to Seacouver. He never expected to get into an argument with Joe.

 

_"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" Joe demanded furiously._

_"Just wanderin' around," Methos replied in his infuriatingly calm manner._

_"It's been two months, and not even a word from you."_

_"Joe, the mail is rather slow in the _ _Himalayas_ _."_

_The Watcher gritted his teeth. "Do you know that Mac's missing?"_

_"So? Every Immortal wants to disappear now and then. You know that."_

_"He's been missing since that night!"_

_Methos fell silent at these words._

_"Now do I have your attention?" Joe said smugly._

_The Old Man glared at the Watcher. "Yeah, so it's my fault, is that it?"_

_"Why shouldn't it be? After all, you raped him!"_

_"That's why I left _ _Paris_ _, because I knew that's what you're going to say. And I certainly didn't want MacLeod running after me, wanting more of that treatment."_

_"Damn it, Adam!" argued Joe. "He was in love with you and, yet, you abandoned him when he needed you most."_

_"Don't go putting all the blame on me! He's the one who's been throwing himself at me. That act of demurity didn't fool me one bit! I'd be a fool if I didn't snap up the chance that was given me." He gave Joe a conspiratorial wink. "Besides, you and I know damned well that this is not the first time this happened."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Merchant's journal. It made for interesting reading at the monastery. You read it, but you didn't read between the lines. What went on between MacLeod and Merchant WAS NOT entirely friendship!" Methos pulled the journal out of his pocket and thrust it into the Watcher's hand. "Take a look! I've marked the page."_

_Before Joe could even begin to read it, the Old Man quoted the passage. "'Sometimes, there were moments during our conversations when _ _Duncan_ _ would fall silent. As I talked, I would notice him peering up at me through his lovely silk lashes with a strange light in his eyes. His full lips would be parted, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. Could it be possible that MacLeod is attracted to me? There is no other explanation for it. But I couldn't risk everything on an assumption. Whether he truly wants it or not, I will take him.'" Methos crossed his arms over his chest. "So you see, Joe, I'm not entirely the one to blame for everything that has happened to MacLeod. The way I see it, it's more his fault than mine. _ _Duncan_ _ was asking for it. Merchant and I simply gave him what he thought he wanted."_

_"SON OF A BITCH!" Joe shouted. Before Methos knew what was happening, the Watcher punched him hard in the jaw that he fell to the pavement._

_Standing over the Immortal, Joe waved a finger menacingly at him as he muttered, "I want you to find Mac."_

_"I'm not his Watcher," Methos declared stubbornly. "You find him!"_

_"I maybe his Watcher," Joe began, "but whether you want to admit it or not, you are his lover. Stop lying to yourself. You love Mac, and you hated what you did to him. That's why you hid like a rat in _ _Tibet_ _. You couldn't take the guilt. Well, it's time to stop running, pal, and face the consequences of your actions. Bring him back, Methos. You're the only one who could do it."_

_The ancient couldn't speak at that remark, because he knew it was true. Finding MacLeod was his responsibility, and, yes, he loved the Highlander. Even after two months in _ _Tibet_ _, he was still haunted by the pain he had inflicted upon _ _Duncan_ _'s heart and soul._

_Joe must have seen the acknowledgement on his face. Straightening up, he said, "I'm glad we agree with each other." He then limped towards his car. Pausing at the door, the Watcher looked at the Old Man once more._

_"One last thing!" Joe called out._

_As Methos slowly got to his feet, he grumbled, "Yeah, what is it?"_

_"Don't touch him, Adam! Even if he throws himself at you, I don't want you laying a finger on him."_

_There was irritated smirk on Methos' face. "Don't worry, Joe. I'll be a perfect gentleman."_

 

_Bastard! _ Methos thought again. _Do you think, after what happened, I'd still want to fuck him?_

It certainly didn't just have to do with the fact that he didn't want to hurt Duncan any more than he already had. Methos was still smarting from the way the cruelty he inflicted upon the Scot backfired on him. Up to now, his cock would ache at the sheer memory of that vise grip.

The Old Man groaned, shaking his head. "Why do these things always happen to me?"  
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Days turned into a week, and already Methos was getting worried. It would've been better if MacLeod had simply gone on a trip, as he originally suspected. However, a visit to the barge proved otherwise. The remains of their last dinner together still sat, stinking and unwashed, in the sink. Apparently, the Scot had hied off to Amanda after he had left him. All his clothes lay in the dresser.

Methos tried using his contacts in the city, but they were unsuccessful in finding clues as to the Highlander's whereabouts. The Old Man even contemplated going to the police. However, he knew that they would also come up with nothing. Of course, there was the strong possibility of the police asking why he only reported the Scot's disappearance now.

"That's a thought!" Methos contemplated wryly. "You see, officer, I raped the missing person, and chances are the reason why he's missing is because he doesn't want me to find him and hurt him again."

The ancient wondered if he should pull in the Watchers' resources. But suspected that Joe had already done so, with no success. Add the fact that it was a clear case of interference. No, he was totally on his own.

Leaning against his car, Methos sighed, "God, Mac! Where the hell are you?"

 

 

On the evening of the tenth day, a forlorn Methos was strolling wearily through the park. His search has been fruitless. Sitting down on a bench, he leaned forward, laying his elbows on his thighs.

Burying his face in his hands, he thought desperately, _How in the world am I going to find __Duncan__? _

Then, Methos heard a soft moan. Turning in the direction of the sound, he saw a man leaning against a tree, his head thrown back. He was trying to conceal another man kneeling at his feet with his trenchcoat. Methos had to admit he admired their audacity. It's not everyday you see a man enjoying a blowjob in the park. Besides, whoever was doing it must be pretty good at it. The man he was suckling was having difficulty holding back his screams. With a stifled cry, it was soon over. With gentle consideration, the kneeling figure zipped up the man's trousers. Still panting for breath, the man pressed a franc note into the other's jacket pocket.

_"Magnifique!"_ he whispered to the man at his feet. As the prostitute stood up, the man trapped his head by entwining his fingers through the hair, loosening the tie. One hand reached down and cupped the firm buttocks, giving them a good squeeze. "Maybe I should fuck you right here, no?"

"I'm afraid it's goin' ta cost ye much mair ta do tha' ta me," came the sultry reply.

Methos frowned at the sound of that voice. It was very familiar to him, but there was something different about it that it was very hard to place the identity of the speaker.

_"Merci beaucoup,"_ the hustler said gratefully as he sauntered off, removing the hair tie that his sable mane hung freely over his shoulders.

Swiftly getting to his feet, Methos called out, "Wait! Please!"

Hearing his call, the hustler paused and, with deliberate slowness, turned to look at him, a provocative smile on his face, the kind of smile that spoke volumes.

_I know what you want. I know what you desire. I can give you your heart's desires,_ the smile said. _But for a price, IF you could afford it._

Methos never expected to see that kind of smile on the lips of the man he loved, and there was something else that troubled him.

The hustler turned pale, seeing him, the smile disappearing from his face, to be replaced by a most ferocious glare. Spinning on his heels, the man dashed off, leaping through the bushes.

"Hey! Wait!" Methos cried as he gave chase. But as he went around the bushes, he saw that his quarry had vanished.

"MacLeod!" he shouted desperately into the night. "MacLeod, come back! I swear I won't hurt you! Duncan!"

However, no one answered his cry. As he concentrated, trying to detect the distinctive aura being emitted by his lover, realizing hit him. To be certain, Methos doubled back to the park bench, staring at the tree where he saw the two men.

The ancient shook his head in dismay. _It's not __Duncan__. It wasn't him!_

The distance between the park bench and the tree was within an Immortal's sensing range. The hustler Methos thought was MacLeod did not have the buzz surrounding him. He was mortal.

 

 

**CONTINUED IN PART TWO**


	3. Part Two

 

**PART TWO**

As the days passed, and still no sign of the Highlander, Methos found his thoughts going back to the hustler in the park. Often, he wondered if it was just the dim lamplight or his aching heart playing tricks on him. The more he thought about it, however, the more he was certain that the man, had indeed, looked like Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

His curiosity piqued, Methos included the hustler in his search. But it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Having been a prostitute himself in his distant past, the ancient knew that there was an unspoken rule among streetwalkers about squealing against one of their kind. It could either get them arrested or, worse, killed.

However, there was an aura of danger surrounding this particular hustler. When asked, the prostitutes would shut up like clams. One pimp didn't give him details, but the man did say that messing around with that particular hunk of gorgeous male flesh was bad "juju". But Methos was persistent. He was determined to find the hustler, and began leaving large sums of money to the pimps and streetwalkers, hoping that they would find the hustler and inform him that his "services" were needed.

Then, one day, his search was rewarded. While Methos stood along the Arch of Triumph, a tall, burly Black man approached him.

"Monsieur," the man said politely, "if I might have a word with you."

The two men were soon seated in Maurice's modest cafe, drinking tea. The Black man introduced himself as Jules Dordet.

"It has come to my attention that you are seeking the services of one of my...employees, Monsieur." It was apparent to Methos that Dordet has not been a pimp for long, and was even uncomfortable about acting as one.

"Yes," the Old Man agreed. "Does he know that I'm looking for him?"

Jules shook his head. "He leaves it up to me to scrutinize potential clients."

"Why? Is he in trouble?"

"I'm afraid so. His former employer is searching for him and wants him back very badly. I want to be certain that he's safe enough away from him."

"He must be very special to you if you would want to protect him like this," said Methos thoughtfully.

For a moment, Jules fell silent, looking into the Immortal's hazel eyes.

Then, to Methos' surprise, rather than comment on the other, sexual, connotation of that statement, Jules replied, "He must be very special to you if you would want to find him like this."

A smile formed on the ancient's lips. "Let's just say I admire the man's brazenness for performing fellatio in a park."

Jules laughed at that remark. "'Brazen'...indeed he is that. If it were not for that particular quality in him, he would not have survived this long."

Leaning forward, Methos begged the man. "Please, Jules. I really must see him. I could only give you my word that I won't hurt him. It's important that I talk to him."

"I know you won't. But you'd be a fool if you'll just 'talk' and do not avail of his services." Jules winked at him. "Am I correct?"

"Whatever you say. Well, so his night with me wouldn't be a total loss, how much do I have to pay him?"

Jules began to enumerate a price list that was certainly very expensive.

_He must have confidence in his talents,_ mused the Old Man. Wanting to gauge the hustler's talents for himself, Methos agreed to the works, which would cost him 1,000 francs.

Before Jules left, he gazed down at Methos. Conspiratorially, he bent down and whispered in his ear.

"I forgot to tell you," he said. "The full service has a 'special offer'. If you could give him pleasure, the same way he had pleased you, he will return every cent of the money you gave him."

Methos cocked an eyebrow up at him. "Is that a challenge, Jules?"

"You may call it that. You described him correctly, Monsieur Pierson. He is...special. It is very difficult for him to find pleasure in sex when he could easily drive women and men to heights of ecstasy they had never experienced before."

"Well, we shall see," the Immortal assured him. "I'm not without experience. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve as well."

"Mr. Pierson," Jules began hesitantly. "I could see that you are a decent man. Please, monsieur. Do not hurt him."

Methos looked at Jules curiously. "I don't have any intention of hurting him. Who knows? Maybe I can help him find the pleasure he seeks."

 

 

Three days following his meeting with Jules, Methos found himself in a cheap hotel. It was ten o'clock, and he was two hours late. As he went up to the 6th floor on the lift, the Immortal was afraid that the hustler had left already.

Opening the door to Room 610 with the key Jules had given him, Methos stepped inside and quietly closed it behind him.

"Duncan?" he gasped in surprise.

The hustler was seated in a small chair beside the window. Like the night he saw him in the park, he wore a black leather jacket that reached down to his thighs, dark jeans and velvet boots. He had fallen asleep, his head laid on his arm on the windowsill.

Methos was having difficulty controlling the emotions that were welling up inside him. Slowly, he approached the sleeping figure. With trembling fingers, the Immortal caressed the smooth cheek.

Feeling the fingers on his skin, the hustler woke up with a start, running to the other side of the bed. A frown creased his brow, seeing the ancient.

"You!" the hustler breathed the word.

"Hello!" greeted Methos nervously. "I'm Adam Pierson."

"I dinna make it a habit o' askin' ma clients' names I dinna want any...personal...entanglements." The young man gazed at the Immortal in displeasure. "Ye're late."

"I got caught in traffic."

The prostitute tilted his head to the side. Methos noted the sensuousness in the man at that small gesture.

"Tell me, Mr. Pierson," the hustler queried. "Do ye make it a habit ta search for whores tha' ye like?"

Methos grinned. "Only the ones that are bold enough to give their clients a blow job in the park."

"Is tha' why ye called me? I thought ye were a cop."

"No. Just looking to cop a feel."

"Well," the younger man began, running his tongue suggestively over his even, white upper teeth, "if ye've brought ma money, ye'll be doin' mair than just coppin' a feel."

Methos pulled out an envelope. He was about to hand it over but he paused, noting the distance between them. "Why don't you come over and get it? I swear I don't bite."

For awhile, the hustler hesitated. Though there was a glower in his face, fear was evident in his eyes. Breathing in deeply, he went around the bed, going towards the ancient. With great exaggeration, he snatched the envelope out of Methos' hand and began counting the money inside.

"It's all there," said Methos, a bit peeved by this blatant display of distrust.

"It pays ta be certain, doesn't it?" the hustler put in.

The Immortal took the younger man's hand and swept him into his embrace. Giving in to his heart's longing, Methos pressed his lips to the prostitute's full mouth. There was no struggle from him. He just allowed the ancient to taste his moist depths.

When Methos' hand squeezed his rump, the hustler chuckled. "I thought ye wanted the works. I dinna give if 'tis only an easy fuck ye desire."

"No," the ancient muttered. "I just wanted to touch you, to kiss you for a second. You remind me of someone who's very important to me. You look just like him."

There was a thoughtful look in the hustler's eyes. "Dinna expect me ta be like him. I dinna want ye ta be disappointed."

Methos smiled weakly. "You know, you're right. Maybe you could help me to forget, even for just a little while."

Pushing the Immortal down onto the bed, the hustler whispered, "Just lie back an' enjoy the show." Going towards the cassette recorder on the table, he turned it on, the opening strains of Queen's "Under Pressure" filling the air.

As Methos watched, the hustler began to dance, moving his body with sinuous grace to the beat of the music. Seeing the young man spin on his toe, the ancient couldn't help but be reminded of the missing Highlander. The Scot was an excellent dancer, very light on his feet despite his build.

However, when the hustler smoothly peeled his jacket off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms, Methos stopped comparing the two men altogether, because there was no way that the prudish Scot would dance like this.

Swaying his hips seductively, the hustler removed the tie from his hair, letting the waves tumble down his shoulders. Long, graceful fingers caressed his neck, descending to the firm muscles of his chest, clearly visible through the mesh-like shirt he wore. Closing his eyes, the hustler pinched the nipples to tautness before letting his open palms slide over the rippling muscles of his abdomen. Methos felt his mouth water as the dancer rubbed the prominent bulge at his crotch.

Bending down, the prostitute unzipped his boots. With excruciating slowness, he removed the buttons of his jeans, pulling his shirt free. Teasingly, the hustler turned his back to Methos, pushing his jeans down his long legs, giving the ancient an alluring view of round buttocks. Turning on his heels, he faced the Immortal and sauntered towards him. Slowly, the hustler climbed on the bed, inching upwards until he straddled Methos' crotch between his knees.

The Old Man gasped as the young man began removing his shirt. When those deft hands found the zipper of his trousers, for a moment, Methos hesitated, grabbing the hustler's wrists. But the dancer pressed the Immortal's hands to his lips, kissing them gently.

Laying those cold trembling hands over his chest, the hustler whispered, "Let me do this. Just play wi' me, touch me as much as ye like."

And Methos did as he was told. While the young man stripped him, the ancient played with the hardened nubs, straining against the fabric of his shirt.

As Freddie Mercury launched into the crescendo, so to did Methos' passions rise. Hungrily, he ripped the hustler's shirt, eliciting a surprised gasp from the younger man. Sitd the hustler's shirt, eliciting a surprised gasp from the younger man. Sitting up, Methos trapped the sable hair between his fingers, yanking the head back. Sitting up, he devoured the hustler's flesh with his lips and tongue, nibbling at the graceful neck. Going down, Methos greedily took a tiny tit inside his mouth, nipping the sensitive gem between his teeth and suckling on it fiercely. His left hand twisted and pulled on the other nipple.

Pulling away from the Immortal's grasp, the prostitute slid down to nuzzle at the nest of curls between Methos' legs. A cry escaped the Old Man's lips as the dancer took the rod of silken steel inside his mouth and let it slide down his throat, his muscles working on the shaft. Gritting his teeth, Methos tried to hold back the deluge that was building up inside him. But it was difficult. The hustler knew how to draw the passions out of the man he was fellating. It was no wonder the man in the park lost all control. Methos, however, was not about to lose himself, to surrender to that wonderful mouth. After all, he was the paying customer.

Thinking that the hustler had slickened his cock enough, Methos jerked the young man off him. He could see the query in the prostitute's eyes as well as the drops of pre-cum on his swollen lips. Gripping the hustler's hips, Methos pushed him to his knees, positioning the young man above his erection. Taking his aching cock in hand, the Immortal thrust hard into the orifice. The hustler whimpered in pain as he felt himself impaled.

Feeling the walls of the hustler's anus clamp around his cock, for awhile, Methos kept still, fearing that he might stimulate a strong spasm. But then, he recalled that it wasn't Duncan he was having sex with. To his delight, the hustler was tentatively milking his cock with his ass muscles.

At once, Methos gave in to the passions that were consuming him, driving his penis like a piston into the sweet body above him. As he held on to the prostitute, he watched as the young man bucked on his rod, sweat trickling down his oiled body that his skin glistened in the light. The hustler's head hung back, eyes closed, lips parted, his hair flying.

Reaching the peak, the Immortal couldn't hold back any longer. With a grunt, he came into the hustler's body, spurting his seed into the hot flesh. When Methos was spent, he pulled his softening member out of the younger man.

"I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did," he said, grinning, playing with a wisp of hair over the prostitute's forehead.

The hustler gave him a smug smile. "Well, I cad see ye got yer money's worth. But I'm afraid it did no' do anythin' for me."

"What..." Methos started to say. It was then that his eyes fell upon the impressive cock between the prostitute's legs, hanging limp and lifeless amidst the sable curls. Throughout their coupling, the penis just dangled unresponsive at the hustler's crotch.

Seeing the look on Methos' face, the hustler said reassuringly, "Dinna take it as an insult ta yer manliness an' prowess in bed. I'm just no' easily aroused, tha's all."

"Are you impotent?" Methos queried curiously.

"Nay," the young man replied. "Like I said, I'm just no' easily aroused. Ye can say I'm a captive o' ma passions."

"Maybe I should free you then." Before the hustler could pull away, Methos took him in his embrace. The ancient's hand groped for the limp jewel, his fingers enclosing it. He then began stroking it from the base to the tip, pulling on the shaft, his thumb playing with the rose-colored head.

The hustler sighed. "It is no' goin' ta work."

"We'll see." Methos pressed his finger at the base of the balls. However, the prostitute jerked more in surprise than in pleasure. After several minutes of trying to elicit a response, he opened his hand and stared at the flaccid penis in confusion.

"I tauld ye it will no' work," said the hustler. Standing up, he took his duffel bag hidden under the bed. He took out a dark blue pullover, putting it on. As he donned his jeans and boots, the hustler looked curiously at Methos. The ancient was staring blankly at the sheets, a forlorn expression on his face.

When he had packed all his things, the young man's eyes fell upon the envelope. He then glanced back at Methos, who still sat silent on the bed.

"I'm goin' ta regret this," he muttered under his breath. Going towards the Immortal, the hustler dropped the envelope before him. Methos snapped out of his thoughts as he gazed up at the young man.

A smile formed on the hustler's face. "Take it! This one's on me."

Methos quickly took the envelope, handing it back. "Listen, it's not what you think." But the prostitute shook his head.

"Nay," he countered. "If ye're tha' desperate ta get yer money back, I guess ye must need it mair than I do."

"It's not about the money. I just wanted you to feel pleasure."

The hustler, however, declined to take his money, pressing the envelope into Methos' hands.

"Wha' abou' the man ye're lookin' for? Cad he no' find pleasure in yer arms? Is tha' why he left ye?"

Methos turned away, shaking his head. "It's rather complicated, very difficult to explain."

The hustler shrugged. "Dinna blame yourself, Mr. Pierson. Ye're a considerate lover. Maybe...maybe...yer lover and I...we cad 'ave...similar problems."

A frown creased the Immortal's brow, hearing these words. However, he did not pry any further. He just watched as the young man went towards the door.

"Wait!" Methos called suddenly. The hustler paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "Will I see you again?"

"I dinna think sa," the young man grimaced. "I cannae afford ta give freebies. I 'ave a reputation ta maintain."

"Let me know your name, at least."

"Ma name is no' part o' the deal."

"PLEASE!"

The hustler paused for a moment, thinking. Grudgingly, he said, "Oh, verra well! My name is Dhonncaidh."

_But that's the Gaelic pronunciation for..._ thought Methos in shock.

Dhonncaidh must have seen the startled expression on the ancient's face. Regretting that he had told Methos his true name, he hastily stammered, "I just liked the sound o' it. I figured, if I had the right name ta gae along wi' this accent, I'd get mair customers."

Methos was not convinced. "Is that your real name? It is, isn't it! So's your Scottish accent!"

"I really must be goin', Mr. Pierson."

"Is your family name 'MacLeod'?" Methos insisted. "Tell me, please!"

"Aye, 'tis MacLeoid!" Dhonncaidh exclaimed. "Why are ye askin' me these questions? Is tha' yer lover's name? If we share the same name, 'tis purely coincidence."

"It's not just the name," the Immortal argued. "You look so much alike. Hell, you could be twins!"

"Mr. Pierson, I suggest ye take a long, hard look at me once mair," said Dhonncaidh icily. "I am a whore. Wad yer lover, yer Duncan MacLeod, sell his body an' soul night after night ta a variety o' men?"

Methos opened his mouth to utter a retort, but no words would come out. Duncan had suffered a most brutal rape. If the Highlander couldn't endure a single night with him, he would practically go insane if he were made to lie with other men.

Dhonncaidh saw the ancient lower his gaze, a pout on his lips. "I'm glad ta see we're in agreement abou' this." As he opened the door, he declared, "Dinna look for me again, Mr. Pierson. I cannae be a substitute for yer lover. I'm no' worthy." Saying this, the hustler walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

For a long while, Methos just sat on the bed, staring at the envelope in his hands.

_"Dinna look for me again, Mr. Pierson,"_ Dhonncaidh had told him. _"I cannae be a substitute for yer lover. I'm no' worthy."_

Then, it just suddenly hit him. Running to the window, Methos gazed down into the street, seeing Dhonncaidh hurry to the other side, disappearing into the corner. The tone in the young man's voice was very apparent to him. Dhonncaidh was jealous.

_"I cannae be a substitute for yer lover. I'm no' worthy,"_ the hustler's last words to him whirled inside his mind.

_How could you say you're not worthy, Dhonncaidh,_  mused Methos, _ if you do not know Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod?_

 

Dhonncaidh purchased some takeout from a Chinese restaurant before taking a circuitous route back to the apartment. Tomorrow, he would be using a different way, to frustrate any possibility of pursuit.

However, when he arrived at his new home, the hustler couldn't shake the foreboding inside his heart. Then, there was the matter of the man he had just left behind.

_Why do these things always happen to me?_ he thought in despair as he rode up to the Fifth Floor via the lift. _'Tis sa unfair!_

Going to his room, Dhonncaidh pulled out his key and unlocked the door. As he went inside, he could see a figure lying on the couch, waiting for him.

"Had a busy night, I see." It was not a question. Duncan MacLeod sat up and stared at the other man accusingly.

Dhonncaidh glared at the Scot. "Ye know the kind o' life I lead. Who asked ye ta show up an' make a mess o' things?"

"May I remind you, Dhonncaidh," the Highlander said coldly, "your life has always been a mess even before I discovered you still existed."

"Are you telling me your life isn't? Look, I ne'er asked ta be this way."

"And what do you want to be? A murderer? A rapist? Take it from me! I like you better this way. It's a big improvement."

Dhonncaidh took three steps towards the Highlander, hand raised to strike. Duncan gazed at him in defiance. Biting his lower lip, he grudgingly lowered his hand and turned his back on the Scot, tears welling up in his eyes.

Duncan felt the change in the other's man demeanor, the stripper's sorrow piercing his heart like a long, fine needle. But his deep hatred for Dhonncaidh helped him to ignore the prostitute's distress.

"Do ye hate me tha' much?" Dhonncaidh suddenly asked him.

"You do not have to ask me that," answered Duncan. "You know what's in my heart. Besides, I know you hate me too."

The hustler shook his head. "Duncan, despite wha' I tauld ye before, I dinna hate ye exactly! It's just tha'... People like ye mair than they do me. 'Tis mair o' envy. But if you dinna want ta believe it, there's nothin' I cad do."

Wanting to keep his mind off his angry guest, Dhonncaidh hastened to set the table for their meager dinner.

As he opened the food cartons, he just found himself saying, "I was wi' him today."

Duncan felt his breath catch in his throat. Gazing out the window, he commented, "So what?"

"I thought ye might want ta know."

There was pain in the Highlander's voice. "Look! It's done! Over! History!"

Dhonncaidh looked back at the Scot, a quizzical frown on his brow. "I dinna understand. I thought ye care abou' him. He's been lookin' for ye, ye know. Tha's how he foond me. He thought I was ye."

"I don't know how he could mistake you for me. What the hell were you doing when he found you?"

The hustler couldn't answer. Instead, he cast his eyes down.

Duncan crossed his arms over his chest and snorted in disgust. "I guessed as much. I believe he was the one who was fucking you earlier."

"But 'twas nothin'!"

"Of course it was nothing to you, because I was the one who felt what you two were doing!"

"Did ye like it?"

A blush went up Duncan's cheeks at that unexpected question. Sorrowfully, he said, "It doesn't matter what I feel about it. After all, he was making love to you, not to me."

"Aye," Dhonncaidh began, "but he was thinkin' o' ye whan he was havin' sex wi' me. He kept on talkin' abou' ye. Dinna ye love him?"

The Highlander laughed at that query. "Love? How could I love the man who raped me? He's all yours if you want him. You two will get along just fine. As they say, 'birds of a feather, flock together.'"

Dhonncaidh was stung by the Scot's comment. Taking his things, he muttered, "Dinner's ready. Ye may eat if ye want. I'm no' hungry." At these words, he stormed inside his room and closed the door.

Duncan didn't have to get up to know that the stripper was crying inside.

_I'm sorry!_ he spoke the words inside his mind. _I didn't mean ta be cruel._

To his surprise, there was a bitter reply. _Dinna apologize if ye dinna mean it, ye hypocrite!_

Duncan bit his lower lip. Dhonncaidh was right. He had meant everything he said. As he gazed out into the city, he could feel Dhonncaidh's pain resonate inside his own heart.

 

 

For several nights, Methos returned to the hotel, hoping to find Dhonncaidh. But the hustler never came back. He tried sending him messages through his previous contacts to no avail. Even Jules met with him personally, saying that Dhonncaidh didn't want to see him again.

Feeling lost and lonely, Methos found himself huddled on the park bench, knees raised, arms wrapped tightly around them. First, Duncan. Now, Dhonncaidh. For five millennia, excluding his brotherhood with the Horsemen, he had prided himself on being a loner, establishing relationships with only a select few he could trust completely. This was the first time he had hurt someone he loved so badly.

So lost was he in his misery that Methos didn't notice the tall, dark figure approaching him.

"Is this seat taken?" a soft voice asked him.

"No," the ancient answered, wiping the tears from his eyes in embarrassment. "I was just leaving."

"Oh!" came the surprised, yet disappointed, reply. "An' I thought ye wanted ta see me?"

Methos' head snapped to the side to find Dhonncaidh looking at him, a smile on his handsome face. Lost for words, the Immortal embraced the prostitute instead.

At first, Dhonncaidh hesitated. Then, his arms rose on their own accord, pulling Methos closer to him. He breathed a relieved sigh as he laid his chin on the Old Man's shoulder.

_I'm sarry, Duncan!_ the hustler thought. _Since ye do no' love him anymore, Methos is mine. I'll teach him ta love me. I swear I'll make him forget ye._

** **

** CONTINUED IN PART THREE. **


	4. Part Three

 

**PART THREE**

 

There's a certain unfairness to sex, especially if one partner doesn't get any pleasure out of it.

The thought whirled through Methos' mind as he pumped vigorously into Dhonncaidh's ass. The prostitute was leaning on the headboard, knees spread wide apart to accommodate his lover's body behind him. Methos gripped Dhonncaidh's cock hard, stroking and squeezing it.

When he came, he didn't elicit a single orgasmic response from the younger man. Dhonncaidh didn't even utter a sound. No whimpers of pain. No cries of passion.

Methos collapsed on the bed, putting his arm on his forehead as he stared up at the ceiling.

Sitting on his haunches, the hustler gazed at the man beside him. "Adam? I cad see ye're no' pleased wi' me."

"No, that's not true," Methos shook his head. "You're a fantastic lover, the best I've had in...years." The Immortal almost said "centuries." Continuing, "It's just that...well...you could say I'm not pleased with myself more than anything else."

"Ye're no' ta blame for ma...inadequacies."

"Dhonncaidh, I want you to experience pleasure. This isn't right. I feel like I've been taking advantage of you." Methos took the prostitute's hand and looked him straight in the eye. "Tell me. Sometime in the past...were you...raped?"

Dhonncaidh blanched at that remark. "Why are ye askin' me this?"

"My missing lover," the Old Man started to say. "The one who has the same name as you. He had been gang-raped. I didn't know it at first. I even thought he was just being a prick tease, that he was leading me on. We tried to make love." The ancient swallowed hard. "Let's just say things didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, and I raped him too. But he still managed to hurt me back."

Though he knew very well what had happened, Dhonncaidh asked just the same, "How did he hurt ye?"

"He didn't do it deliberately," Methos declared defensively. "It was a psychological reaction, probably from the rapes he had suffered. His...ass... It just tightened around my cock like a vise. I couldn't pull out of him. It was...agonizing...for both of us."

Dhonncaidh winced. "I cad just imagine. But...I'm no' like him. I dinna hurt ye...do I?"

The Immortal sat up and faced the younger man. Caressing his face, he whispered, "You have never hurt me, Dhonncaidh. However, your...lack of response... It is a sign."

Breathing in deeply, the prostitute said, "Ye know the nature of ma...profession. I live wi' rape night after night. I dinna want ta be a whore, but I 'ave ta survive, e'en if I 'ave ta lie wi' complete strangers against ma will."

"You could get away from this life. I could help you if you'll just let me."

"Now why wad I want ta do tha'?" Dhonncaidh laughed lightly.

Methos felt his heart skip a beat. _I've had this conversation before. But where?_

"I'm happy tha' ye care for me this deeply." Dhonncaidh kissed the older man tenderly. "Howe'er, I lead a dangerous life. I dinna want ye ta get hurt on ma account. Besides, there are still many things ye dinna know abou' me."

"We all have our little secrets. I understand. But I cannot let you go on like this. I want you to be with me always."

"Adam, there is no escape for me. I cad ne'er be a part o' yer world. If ye knew the truth... An' wha' abou' yer missin' lover? He needs ye mair than I do. Have ye e'en been searchin' for him since we became...friends?"

Methos couldn't answer. In truth, he had abandoned his search for the Scot, believing that Duncan had gone into seclusion.

"Ye've stopped lookin' for him?" the dancer exclaimed in shock and disbelief. Dhonncaidh quickly got up from the bed and began to put on his clothes. "This folly has gone tae far! I sud ne'er 'ave gotten involved wi' ye. I sud ne'er 'ave distracted ye from yer search."

"'Involved'?"

The prostitute paused from buttoning his shirt. _Nay! I sud ne'er 'ave fallen in love wi' ye all over again!_ "Please, Adam! Dinna make it difficult for me ta leave."

"I know you love me, Dhonncaidh," Methos stated the fact outright. "Just as much as I love you."

Dhonncaidh was close to tears as he gathered his things and hurried to the door. The ancient, though, was quicker. The two men just found their hands on the doorknob, Methos' fingers closing over the prostitute's hand.

"Dhonncaidh, I beg you! Don't go!"

But the prostitute shook his head. "I canno'. I cannae bear it if ye find ou' one day tha' ye dinna love me."

Saying this, Dhonncaidh opened the door and dashed out into the hallway. He didn't stop running, not outside the hotel, nor in the streets. He only stopped until he was inside his apartment, slamming the door behind him. As he leaned on the door, the last thing he wanted to see once more was the Highlander, sitting on the couch, waiting for him.

"Cannae ye do anythin' else except wait for me?" he demanded angrily.

"You're early," Duncan said icily. "I take it things didn't go well for you."

Dhonncaidh threw his bag on the floor. "Shut up!" Plopping wearily on an armchair, he covered his face with his hands.

Seeing the hunched form, the Scot felt a small measure of pity for the other man. "What happened? Did he hurt you? I thought you were... I felt him making love to you."

The hustler's face was wet with his tears when he removed his hands. "Did you find pleasure in it?" Noting Duncan's jaw hardening, he quickly said, "No, it's no' wha' ye think. Methos wanted ta give me pleasure, but I cannae feel anythin'! I want ta respond ta his kisses, ta his touch, but there was nothin'."

"Strange, isn't it?" Duncan mused sadly. "Methos cannot make love to me without causing me to suffer intense pain. The only time I could feel pleasure is when you are having sex with him. You, on the other hand, cannot find pleasure in sex, unless your lovers beat you, abuse your body brutally. I wonder, Dhonncaidh. If Methos beat and raped you, like Kinsey had, would you feel pleasure?"

A sigh escaped Dhonncaidh's lips. "I dinna know. Maybe. I dinna think Methos cad hurt me. He tauld me tha' he loved me."

"He said the same thing to me, too, four months ago, and look what happened to me."

"He didn't mean ta. Methos is so stricken wi' guilt." The prostitute gazed firmly into the Scot's eyes. "Ye must gae ta him. He deserves ye, no' me."

"You're letting me go?" queried Duncan in surprise.

"Ye ne'er were ma prisoner, Duncan. Except for tha' first time, ye cad 'ave gone any time ye wished. I was surprised ye stayed. Were ye afraid ta bump into Kinsey?"

"No, it's not Kinsey. You could say we're both prisoners. There's a bond between us that is impossible to break. We're shackled by the pains of the past, and of the passions of the man who both loved and hurt us."

"But I doubt if even he, with his five millennia of knowledge and experience, would understand what had happened to us."

"It's no' just tha', Duncan, an' ye know it. Though we are bound, we are no' united. We are no' one." Dhonncaidh lowered his head, whispering softly, "Ye cannae accept me."

Duncan lapsed into silence. Everything Dhonncaidh said was true.

The hustler then stood up and went towards the Scot, sitting down on the couch before him.

"I will no' ask ye ta accept who I am," said Dhonncaidh. "But I want ye ta gae an' make Methos happy."

"How pray tell can I do that?" cried Duncan in despair. "You know what happens when he tries to make love to me!"

Looking at the Highlander meaningfully, Dhonncaidh muttered, "Maybe I cad help ye."

"Help me?" Duncan queried dubiously. "How?"

Dhonncaidh didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his fingers gripping the Scot's hair that Duncan couldn't move his head. Before the Highlander could pull away, the prostitute kissed him on the lips.

Shocked, Duncan froze in place, allowing the other man to caress his lips and mouth with his tongue. To his dismay, he was responding to Dhonncaidh's kisses, his hands going up to wrap around his neck.

Intoxicated by the pressure of that familiar body in his arms, Dhonncaidh knew he had to touch the Highlander. Pulling Duncan's robe open, he sought the firm chest. When his fingers pinched the sensitive nipples, the Scot moaned in pleasure. The hustler could actually feel the ripples of ecstasy in his own taut nubs.

Dhonncaidh's hands slid down to the trim waist, going to the hips, and then moved over the thighs. While he nuzzled on Duncan's neck, he pressed his right hand between the Scot's legs, seeking out the tiny orifice.

Feeling a fingertip poke the bud, Duncan tensed. "Dhonncaidh?" he gasped in growing alarm, his body warring against the pleasures the prostitute was trying to ignite in him. "What are you doing?"

"'Tis all right, Duncan," Dhonncaidh assured him. "Just relax an' let me do this."

But when Dhonncaidh pushed his finger inside, Duncan cried out in pain, his ass muscles constricting around the finger. The hustler grimaced, feeling his own anus tighten. Closing his eyes, Dhonncaidh forcibly willed himself to relax, hoping that, in doing so, he would also ease the tension in the Highlander. Sure enough, the pressure around his finger eased that he slowly pulled it out.

As he looked into the Scot's face, there was such horror and revulsion in Duncan's eyes. A stinging slap on his cheek followed this. Dhonncaidh felt blood inside his mouth.

"Damn you!" the Scot cursed him. "And I thought you wanted to help me. I should have known you haven't changed one bit."

"You dinna understand," Dhonncaidh exclaimed. "I was only tryin' ta get past yer fears. Ye saw for yourself tha' I cad help ye control yer body's responses."

"NO! What you want is for us to be whole again, so you could once again take control. Well, I won't let you. I'd take your head first before that could ever happen!"

"'Tis no' as if ye haven't tried it before! Gae ahead! Hell, ye dinna e'en 'ave ta decapitate me! I'm mortal, Duncan! Ye cad take a knife from the kitchen an' stab me right through the heart!" Dhonncaidh shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. "Never mind! I'll do it myself!"

Before Duncan could stop him, the prostitute ran into the kitchen. The Scot followed him. Dhonncaidh had taken a sharp knife and was pointing it at his chest.

"Dhonncaidh, no!" cried the Highlander, tackling the hustler to the floor, trying to grab the knife.

Struggling fiercely, Dhonncaidh shouted, "Let me gae, damn ye!"

However, as the Scot tried to pry the knife out of the prostitute's hand, Dhonnchaidh suddenly gripped the blade, that it sliced deep into his palm. The Highlander hissed in pain, as a similar, gaping wound appeared on his hand.

"Give it to me!" Duncan declared, throwing the knife far away. He then took out his handkerchief and pressed it over the bleeding cut with his own wounded palm, which was healing slowly.

Dhonncaidh just sagged into his embrace, his body shaking with sobs. "Why don't ye let me die, Duncan? If ye hate me sa much, why don't ye let me die?"

The Highlander didn't know what to say. Instead, he hugged the prostitute comfortingly, rocking him like a child.

 

**CONTINUED IN PART FOUR**


	5. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! This part contains the squicky sex torture scene involving a banana. If you feel that you will be offended or grossed out, please do not proceed.

 

**PART FOUR**

 

Methos was sitting inside the deejay booth overlooking the dance floor of the private club, gripping the hilt of his concealed Ivanhoe tightly.

After a fruitless search for both the Highlander and the hustler, the Old Man returned to his apartment to find an envelope tucked under his door. Inside was an invitation to a private party at an exclusive club. Wanting to see Dhonncaidh again, Methos decided to go, though his cautious nature made him take his sword. After all, despite its dilapidated appearance, the club was a favorite nightspot for the so-called connoisseurs of the sensual arts.

When he arrived, he was immediately ushered by Jules into a room and locked inside. Still, Methos chose to go along, wondering what was in store for him. But when the lights were turned on, he felt a chill run up his spine at the sight below him.

Sitting casually at a long table were ten hulking men, all decked in leather. Studded bands adorned their wrists. They wore heavy boots on their feet. An assortment of desserts sat

"More wine!" a man with a thick mustache demanded, slamming his fist on the table.

Methos felt his breath catch in his throat as Dhonncaidh stumbled out from the kitchen, bearing a bottle of wine on a tray. The prostitute was dressed as a waiter, his white silk shirt a glaring contrast to the darkness of his coat and the attire of the men he served.

After pouring wine into the man's glass, Dhonncaidh made to return to the kitchen, but a meaty hand grabbed his arm, pulling him into the man's embrace.

"Please, Monsieur!" he whispered breathlessly. "I must get back ta the kitchen."

"Your task is to serve US, boy!" the man stated bluntly. A long, thick finger caressed the hustler's cheek. "You're very beautiful! Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Nay, sir," answered Dhonncaidh, a quiver in his voice.

"Well, you are. I wonder." The man slid his hands down the young man's sides to cup the firm hips. "Is your body just as beautiful?"

As he was pushed away, Dhonncaidh gasped, seeing his black coat fall to the floor, leaving only his white shirt, suspenders and black trousers.

"Dance for us, boy!" the man ordered, clapping his hands.

Dhonncaidh shook his head. "I am no' a performer, Monsieur! I dinna know how ta dance."

Another man, with a broad hairy chest, suddenly grabbed him from behind, grasping his hips. Pressing his bulging crotch to the hustler's buttocks, he moved Dhonncaidh with him in a sinuous dance.

"It doesn't take much effort to wiggle hips as lovely as yours," he whispered in the prostitute's ear. "Now, up on the table you go!" He then lifted Dhonncaidh onto the table. For awhile, Dhonncaidh just huddled in the middle, staring at the men surrounding him with eyes wide with fear. A pinch on his backside prompted him to stand.

Suddenly, music filled the air. The men cheered and clapped, encouraging the young man to perform for them. At first, Dhonncaidh refused to move, until the men began pounding the table menacingly. Swallowing hard, Dhonncaidh moved his hips the way the man had showed him.

As Methos watched, the prostitute started to dance in his usual sensual grace. His sable mane flew as he snapped his head from side to side and back. Long graceful fingers ran coyly all over his body, deliberately avoiding the sensitive flesh on his chest and between his legs. Already, his shirt was drenched with his sweat, that Methos could discern the round discs.

However, when one of the men urged him to strip, Dhonncaidh stopped dancing at once. Shaking his head at the men, he pressed his hands over his chest to pull the lapel close. His mouth voiced the word "No!" over and over again, though he could barely be heard over the din of the music.

In his distraught state, Dhonncaidh didn't notice one man climb up on the table behind him. He cried out as his right sleeve was torn from his shoulder and ripped off, leaving only his cuff. Before he could pull away, another man did the same to his left sleeve. Dhonncaidh made to run, but the man behind tore his shirt from his back. He was then held tightly, arms twisted behind him. The man with the mustache sauntered towards him and ripped the front of his shirt, leaving only the collar with its small bowtie and his suspenders. At once, Dhonncaidh dropped down to his knees to cover his nakedness. But the men, with their cruel groping and pinches, prodded him to stand and resume the dance.  
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"How are you liking the show so far, Monsieur Pierson?" Methos almost jumped at the sound of Jules' voice over the intercom.

Trying to sound cool and detached, he commented, "A pure lamb about to be savaged by a pack of wolves? Please, Jules! Can't Dhonncaidh think of a better scenario?"

"I thought you wanted to know Dhonncaidh's secret?" Jules replied. "This show was made more for your benefit than theirs."

"And does he think that I'm the type of man who wants to be a witness to violence and perversions?" Methos stood up abruptly from his chair. "I'm out of here!"

What Jules said next stopped him cold. "Dhonncaidh believes you are." The Old Man glared at the speaker on the wall. "Monsieur Pierson, I am not agreeable with this private affair. But since Dhonncaidh went to all the trouble to set this up for you, I suggest you just sit back and watch."

With much reluctance, Methos went back to his seat.

Below him, Dhonncaidh danced stiffly, trying in vain to shield his bare chest from the hands that reached out to fondle him.

A man smoking a cigar snapped his riding crop on the table with a loud crack. "Remove your hands, boy, unless you want to feel the sting of a good whipping right now."

"Please dinna make me do this, Monsieur!" Dhonncaidh begged him, his eyes glistening. "I beg ye!"

The crop hit his calves and a cry escaped his lips. When a hard blow landed on his buttocks, Dhonncaidh slowly lowered his hands, letting the strip of his suspenders cover the jewels of his chest. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he continued to dance, running his fingers through his hair slicked back by his sweat.

"Unzip your pants, boy," the man with the broad chest urged him, "and do it slowly. I want you to tease us."

Dhonncaidh gritted his teeth. Closing his eyes, his fingers eased the zipper down and removed the buttons at his waist, that the crotch gapped open.

When a hand suddenly reached inside, the prostitute panicked. Quickly, he jumped down from the table and dashed for the kitchen. Two men, however, snatched him off his feet before he could reach the doorway to freedom and slammed him back onto the table. The man with the mustache yanked him up by his suspenders to a sitting position. He gasped as the elastic fabric was released, snapping over his nipples. Dhonncaidh was about to cup his palms over the smarting nubs when the man trapped his hands behind his back and secured them with a leather strap.

"Boy, you are absolutely exquisite," the man whispered, easing the suspenders an inch outward, away from the patches of sensitive flesh. "Don't make it difficult on yourself. We'll still get what we want whether you like it or not. But it would be better if you submit. We could make it worth your while."

"No! Never!" Dhonncaidh cried in anger.

The man with the crop chuckled. "I don't know why you want a submissive slave. It's in taming them where you get the most satisfaction." Pushing his friend aside, he said, "Stand back. Let me show you how it's done."

Dhonncaidh tried to inch away, but he was pulled back, his upper arms gripped tightly. Then, his mouth was brutally claimed. There wasn't any pause for him to breathe. The man ravaged his lips with his teeth, biting the lower lip, drawing blood. When he wouldn't open his mouth, hard fingers dug deep into his cheeks. Feeling the pain, Dhonncaidh had no choice but to part his lips, his moist depths plundered by a prodding tongue.

There was a moment's relief when that disgusting kiss ended, only to discover, to his horror, that same mouth clamp on his neck, leaving a bite mark on his shoulder, slowly going down to the broad expanse of his chest. Just when he thought the man would claim the rose discs, he pulled away. Then, Dhonncaidh winced as rough fingers pinched and tugged his nipples.

"You've got nice tits, boy," he muttered breathlessly, squeezing the nubs hard until the body before him began to squirm. "But it still needs something else."

Taking the bowl filled with thick, cold chocolate, the man dipped his finger in the mixture and daubed Dhonncaidh's tits with it. The prostitute couldn't help but gasp at the coldness.

"No! Please!" Dhonncaidh begged his tormentor, seeing that disgusting mouth descending to his chest.

The prostitute shuddered all over as his nipple was suckled upon greedily. He burst into tears as his other tit was also claimed, teeth nipping at the tiny bud. Dhonncaidh turned his face away, hoping the torment would end, only to start anew with a fresh dollop of chocolate and another pair of mouths.

Methos watched as the men feasted on the hustler's nipples. Though he tried to control himself, the sight was drawing his lust out. He wanted to go down and savor Dhonncaidh's chocolate-covered tits himself.

When the suckling stopped, Dhonncaidh nearly fell back on the table in weariness, his nipples aching and rock hard from the relentless lingual torture given to them. But he snapped to alertness, his eyes wide in horror, realizing that he was totally nude. In his agony, he didn't notice that his trousers and shoes were removed. His hands too were freed.

Desperate to get away, Dhonncaidh lashed out at the man nearest to him with his fist, knocking him down. Terrified, he ran for the kitchen, only to find it locked. Seeing the men surrounding him, Dhonncaidh blindly tried to evade capture. In his panic, he just found himself in the hands of the man he had punched. Before he could even blink, Dhonncaidh was struck hard in the face, throwing him into the arms of another man, who licked the blood from his mouth. Dhonncaidh wept as he was pushed back and forth between them, until he found himself bent over the knee of the man with the riding crop.

The man clucked his tongue. "You're a very bad boy."

Methos' jaw dropped in horror when the man whacked Dhonncaidh's bare buttocks with the crop, eliciting a scream from the hustler's lips. He winced with every drop, every crack of the whip. He could see Dhonncaidh raised his head at the first few blows, crying out in pain. Soon, he just didn't have the strength to even move or scream. Dhonncaidh hung limply over the man's knee, sobbing uncontrollably.

"This isn't amusing any more, Jules!" Methos snarled at the intercom. "I want out! NOW!"

He heard Jules sigh. "I'm afraid I can't! Dhonncaidh ordered me to keep you here until it's all over." There was a brief pause. "Besides, the show has only just begun."

 

 

When the spanking came to a merciful end, Dhonncaidh was made to straddle the man's lap. His face was flushed and wet with his tears. Dhonncaidh could only sob pitifully as his nipples were tweaked once more.

"Now, do you promise to be good and do everything we say?" he whispered soothingly.

The man gave a painful twist on the tits and Dhonncaidh nodded furiously.

Motioning to his companion, a black leather case was produced. Inside were several adjustable clamps with sharp teeth, long chains attached to them.

"Put your hands on your knees and arch your body forward."

Dhonncaidh did as he was told, tensing, waiting for the bite of the clamps. He groaned as the clamps were fastened to his tits, nearly tearing the flesh. The chains on the clamps were attached to a long leash.

"Now, get down on your hands and knees."

Dhonncaidh eased down to the floor, whimpering as the chains roughly pulled his nipples, stretching them taut.

"He's got a nice ass," one man laughed, slapping his butt.

"Wish I could say the same about his cock," said another, poking the limp organ with his toe.

"One step at a time, gentlemen," the man with the crop declared. "One step at a time. Why don't we get this scrumptious backside cleaned up, eh?"

Methos found that he couldn't look, disgusted by the indignity being inflicted upon the prostitute. With the initial stab of the nozzle into his ass, Dhonncaidh had cried out. As he was filled with water, gasps were drawn from his lips. The ancient knew, when the men were finished with this procedure, they would be sticking much longer, more agonizing things inside him.

There was laughter and claps all around, and Methos knew it was over... or the worst was just beginning. Dhonncaidh was trembling as the men slapped his rump, kissed his lips and teased his aching nipples. Too weak to even stand, they lifted Dhonncaidh onto the table. Taking handfuls of butter, they massaged the hustler with it, rubbing the butter onto his skin briskly until he shone with a golden glow. The man with the mustache took exquisite care in applying it over the flaccid sex and the sac of tender balls behind it. Flipping him onto his stomach, they did the same to his back, thighs and legs. Each took perverse pleasure in parting the firm asscheeks and greasing the tiny orifice abundantly.

When the prostitute has been massaged fully, the men began adorning his body with jewels. One man placed his wife's set of dangling diamond ear clips to his earlobes. Another man wrapped a slender chain belt of rubies and sapphires around his hips. Serpent bracelets and anklets with emerald eyes were placed on his upper arms and ankles.

"What about this?" The man with the hairy chest raised a tiny cock ring studded with sapphires.

"Later, my friend! Can't you see he isn't even hard yet?"

At last done, they turned Dhonncaidh onto his back and surveyed their handiwork. Indeed, the hustler looked stunningly beautiful with his body thus bedecked with jewels. Methos felt a sudden tightness in his crotch.

The man with the crop grinned lasciviously at the hustler. "Damn! All this hard work has made me hungry!" Taking a large banana, he tugged sharply on the chains, urging Dhonncaidh to inch down the table until his long legs dangled over the edge. Not satisfied, he spun the prostitute around that he lay crosswise on the table, his head also falling back on the other edge.

With exquisite slowness, the man peeled the banana. Then, to Methos' horror, he plunged the fruit inside the puckered mouth of Dhonncaidh's anus. Dhonncaidh screamed as the banana was buried deep inside him, tears leaking from his eyes.

Positioning himself between the prostitute's legs, the man plugged the tiny hole with his blunt finger.

Dhonncaidh was sobbing. "Please take it ou' o' me! It hurts sa much! Why are ye doin' this ta me?"

Caressing the shivering young man, he whispered, "Because you are so beautiful, and I love to see you suffering like this, just to give me pleasure. Now, I want you to feed me, boy. Don't push it out completely or else I'll choke, and you wouldn't want that. Work that pretty ass of yours and feed it to me in bite size pieces."

Methos wanted to vomit at the repulsive sight below him. Dhonncaidh began moving his hips with such slow, seductive grace, the mix of sweat and oil making his body glisten. The young man was gritting his teeth, forcing his ass muscles to constrict around the banana, and cutting it. As the first piece popped out of his anus, the man took it eagerly inside his mouth and began to eat.

But what horrified Methos the most was the sight of Dhonncaidh's cock slowly rising, until it was hard and erect, the veins distended and pulsing.

"This is not possible!" Methos gasped. "It couldn't be! Not like this!"

"But it's true, Monsieur Pierson," Jules answered. "You could see it for yourself."

It took what seemed like an eternity before Dhonncaidh shat out the fourth and final piece. A moan escaped his lips as the cock ring was clamped at the base of his balls. Judging from the blissful look on Dhonncaidh's face, Methos was forced to admit that it was because of pleasure.

"Are you ready for us now, boy?" the man with the riding crop queried, pushing his rampant cock to the anus.

Unable to trust his own voice, Dhonncaidh simply nodded.

At once, a scream was wrenched from his throat as the man slid his cock home. To stifle his cry, another man thrust his organ into Dhonncaidh's throat.

Furious, Methos got up, his chair falling over. Running to the locked door, he pounded on the hard wood. "Jules, open this God-damned door! It's gone too far!"

"I'm afraid I can't!" Jules replied, his voice just as anguished. "I swore to him I wouldn't let you out!"

Tears of rage and helplessness fell from his eyes. "Jules, let me out! I can't stand by to see him being hurt like this!"

"Do you think they're hurting him? Watch him, Monsieur Pierson," said Jules in sorrow. "Watch him closely!"

Methos ran to the one way viewing glass, pounding on it, though he knew it was soundproof. He clenched his fists, seeing the man pull out of Dhonncaidh's mouth, semen trickling from his lips.

"What do you need, boy?" the man who was raping him asked, grunting in pleasure. "Tell me what you need?"

Dhonncaidh gasped out, "Please, Monsieur! Give me pleasure!"

"And how could we please you?"

The prostitute's reply stunned Methos to the core of his being.

"Hurt me, sir!" Dhonncaidh answered. "'Tis only in pain tha' I cad only find ma pleasure."

As the man continued with his brutal onslaught on the tender flesh, Dhonncaidh gazed up at the deejay booth. To Methos, it seemed the hustler could see him behind the glass.

When the man poured his fluids inside him, there was a bright sparkle in Dhonncaidh's eyes. It was almost playful.

_This is wha' I am, Adam,_ those liquid brown orbs seemed to say to him. _Do ye like wha' ye see? Do ye want ta 'ave a turn?_

 

 

Two hours passed. Methos was riveted to the glass, frozen in place by the gaze of the abused man below him. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. His body was inflamed, greatly aroused by the rapine below him.

Methos gritted his teeth as the man with the crop rode Dhonncaidh for what seemed like the tenth time. Removing the cock ring, he stroked the hustler's cock furiously. To his shock, Dhonncaidh was in ecstasy, undulating his hips, thrusting his penis into the man's strong grip just as he drove the hard cock deeper inside him. Methos could only shake his head as he heard Dhonncaidh scream in pleasure, gushing his copious fluids all over his body.

Then, there was silence. Hearing soft whispers, the Old Man saw the men laying thick envelopes of money on the table beside Dhonncaidh.

_"Merci!"_ Dhonncaidh whispered to the man with the riding crop.

The man leaned down and kissed him on the lips. "No, thank you for a most enchanting evening! Maybe we could do it again some time."

"Maybe." Playfully running his fingers over the jewelry, he asked, "Wha' abou' yer baubles, Monsieur?"

"Keep them!" the man with the moustache said. "You certainly earned them."

Another man declared, "Those earrings look better on you than on my wife anyway!"

Dhonncaidh smiled sweetly. "Thank ye! I will wear these whan next we meet!"

"Who knows?" the man with the hairy chest interrupted. "We might have something new for you to wear then."

"Verra well. Wad ye please kiss me?" Dhonncaidh requested. "Sa we cad all 'ave somethin' ta look forward to."

One by one, the men kissed the prostitute's moist lips, giving his limp sex and tits a good squeeze. The man with the whip even touched the opening between his legs reverently.

Soon enough, they exited through the back door, leaving Dhonncaidh all alone, still lying on the table.

"Ye can let Adam out, Jules," the hustler said aloud. "I wish ta speak ta him alone."

"But Dhonncaidh..."

"Ye may leave us, an' thank ye."

A few minutes later, Methos heard the door to the deejay booth open. His legs felt like they were weighed down with heavy steel as he went down to the dance floor. The ancient paused a few feet away from the table, not knowing what to do.

Instead, he spoke his lover's name. "Dhonncaidh..."

The prostitute didn't even stand. "Well, Adam, did ye like the show? Dinna say no! Tell me the truth!"

Methos' face darkened. "I was aroused by it, you sick bastard, if that's what you want to know. Damn it! My cock is still aching for you!"

"Then, why prolong yer agony?" Dhonncaidh raised his legs, spreading them wide apart. His swollen anus, open and sopping with blood and semen, was grotesquely illuminated in the spotlight. "Ye know wha' I want. Ye know how ta give me pleasure now."

Methos felt his cock become fully erect at the shameless baiting. "Keep that up and I will rape you!"

Dhonncaidh burst into laughter, his finger dipping into the slick fluids. Teasingly, he queried. "What was it ye said abou' rapin' me?"

That query caused a chill to run up the Old Man's spine. He had heard that reply before, to the same comment he had just made.

"What did you say?" he stammered in shock.

Dhonncaidh's answer was another question. "Are ye goin' ta hurt me, Adam?"

Slowly, Methos found himself walking towards the table. He grimaced, seeing the welts and bruises on the hustler's torso. There was a bleeding cut on his mouth. Dhonncaidh gave him a very familiar leer, his tongue licking the blood away.

"Ye still haven't answered ma question," he said invitingly, spreading his legs even wider apart.

Feeling the rage and his desires suddenly burst forth, Methos gripped the young man's wrists, pinioning him down to the table. As he freed his erection, he laid the tip at the swollen opening.

"Oh, I will hurt you, Dhonncaidh!" Methos hissed menacingly. "But I won't do it because I want to give you pleasure. No, I'll do it because you deserve to be fucked like the sick whore that you are. Hell, I'll even pay you."

"I dinna need yer money, Adam," said Dhonncaidh in expectation. "'Tis aneuch tha' ye do this for me ou' o' love."

To his shock, however, Methos punched him in the belly that the hustler coughed out blood.

"Adam?" Dhonncaidh looked up questioningly at the ancient, only to see the fury in Methos' eyes.

"'Love'? Damn you, Dhonncaidh! I don't think you even know the meaning of the word! Though you have the face of my beloved, you have the heart of a devil! I can't believe I fell under your spell. I was a fool to love you!"

"I dinna understand! Ye tauld me ye loved me! I thought this was wha' ye wanted – ta know the truth abou' ma...incapacity."

"I thought I was in love with you because you reminded me so much of Duncan. You're right. You could never be him. Duncan has honor. He would never give himself to be beaten and raped by men for money."

"I AM A WHORE! I ne'er denied tha' ta ye!" Dhonncaidh glowered at Methos in defiance. "Ye're just jealous, Adam, because other men can release ma passions while ye canno'! Ye're sa pathetic! Ye cannae please me sa now ye're goin' ta take yer frustrations ou' on me. Didn't ye rape yer Duncan MacLeod whan he cad no' give ye wha' ye wanted as well?"

"SHUT UP!" Methos slapped Dhonncaidh fiercely that the younger man's head whipped to the side.

Dhonncaidh, however, glared back at him with a feral gleam in his eye. "Take me, ye bastard! Fuck me hard! I will no' surrender ta ye the way yer lover had!" Wickedly, he added, "If ye succeed, I'll e'en tell ye where he is."

"You're lying!"

"Oh, but I'm tellin' ye the truth! While ye've been sa busy wi' me instead o' searchin' for him, I foond Duncan! Poor MacLeod! He still cad no' get o'er the fact tha' ye, the man he loved, had raped him!" Dhonncaidh then dared him, "A challenge, Adam! Make me come an' I'll tell you where Duncan is!"

In sheer ferociousness, Methos pinned the hustler and thrust into him, tearing the flesh, the tip of his cock striking the prostate. As Dhonncaidh screamed in pain, to his dismay, he saw his cock shoot up to attention.

Methos sneered down at him. "I guess you're not much of a challenge after all, Dhonncaidh! You shouldn't have shown me where your weakness lay." Leaning down, he whispered in the young man's ear. "Know this, Dhonncaidh. With every pinch and flick of your sweet nipples, with every painful blow, with every agonizing thrust, I hate you with all my heart! I won't even kiss you! I might puke! You want pain? You want me to hurt you? By the time, I'm through with you you'll be begging me for mercy!" In emphasis, he twisted the tips of Dhonncaidh's nipples fiercely that blood was drawn.

Despite his bravado, as the precious minutes passed, Dhonncaidh found himself surrendering to the ancient's will. Every inch of his body was in agony. Already, he was bleeding profusely between his legs. But the greater pain was inflicted to his heart by Methos' cruel words.

"I hate you, Dhonncaidh!" the Old Man told him again and again and again. "I was a fool to love you!"

Methos raped him relentlessly, while gripping his aching erection and balls in a tight grip. Many times, Dhonncaidh was brought to the edge, only to have his release quelled by that strong hold.

"God, Adam!" Dhonncaidh cried feebly, tears leaking from his eyes, as he tried to push the older man off him. Unable to bear what Methos was doing to him, he did what he swore he wouldn't do. He begged. "If ye 'ave any mercy in ye, please make me come!"

But the ancient slapped the cock hard, causing the prostitute to flinch. Swiftly, he tied a length of cord at the base of the sac. Dhonncaidh gasped as Methos buried his fingers in the hustler's locks and pulled his head back.

"Not until you tell me where Duncan is!" Methos declared firmly, continuing his frenzied pounding.

In his incensed state, the ancient didn't feel the distinct buzz of Immortal presence. Suddenly, a soft, but furious, voice spoke behind him, "I'm right here, you son of a bitch!"

Then, Methos felt something sharp stab him in the back. As he fell to the floor, he felt his sight begin to dim. Before he succumbed into the arms of Death, his last vision was that of two men, one of them was cradling the trembling figure of the hustler. Both, however, have the same face – that of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

 

 

"Dhonncaidh, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Duncan demanded the shivering form in his arms. "I can't believe you had the nerve to do that!"

"Please dinna nag me!" Dhonncaidh pleaded with him. "I've had a rough night!"

The Highlander snorted in disgust as he glanced down at Methos. "I could see that!"

"Duncan, the cord. Please untie it. I just dinna 'ave the strength."

As the Scot removed the cord, he said, "Don't tell me you also want me to..."

"If 'tis no' tae much for yer delicate sensibilities," Dhonncaidh grinned, "I wad appreciate it." Feeling Duncan take his aching erection in his hands, he added, "Better take yer thing ou' tae. I dinna want ye ta ruin ma perfectly guid pair o' slacks."

Duncan was grumbling as he did as he was told, not looking down at himself. Gripping their two cocks hard, the Highlander began stroking them from the base to the tip, increasing the pace, until the pleasure washed over them. It was over too soon as they came, sighs of relief breathed through their parted lips.

"Can you walk?" queried Duncan. "I could call Jules. He's waiting for us outside."

Dhonncaidh nodded his head. "Yes, please." As the Highlander went towards the exit, he couldn't help but ask, "Why did ye come here?"

The Scot gave him an exasperated smirk. "I couldn't...take...what's being done to you. I'm not of strong mettle as you."

"But ye're the Immortal, not I."

"No, it's your spirit that makes you strong." Reluctantly, Duncan admitted, "I wish I had it back." He then strode out the door.

Easing down from the table, Dhonncaidh gazed at the dead form at his feet. From his discarded coat, he pulled out a note from the inside pocket. With great difficulty, Dhonncaidh got down on his knees and squeezed the tiny paper into Methos' hand, closing the limp fingers around it. He slowly leaned down and kissed the ancient on the lips, tears falling from his eyes.

"I love ye, Methos," Dhonncaidh whispered in his ear. "Though it breaks ma heart ta do so, I'm givin' Duncan back ta ye. Ye cad ne'er be mine anyway. Ye might as well be wi' the mon ye love."

Clinging to the table's edge, Dhonncaidh got to his feet, just as Duncan and Jules came in.

"I'm sorry, Dhonncaidh!" Jules said sadly. "I was wrong about him."

"There's nothin' for ye ta be sorry for, Jules," Dhonncaidh replied, wrapping his coat around his naked form. "'Tis no one's fault but ma ain." He shrugged his shoulders. Dhonncaidh tried to sound calm; however, his voice was choked with emotion. "I just fell in love wi' the wrong guy." Jules went to help him but the hustler waved him off. "'Tis all right! I can walk after all."

As the two men looked on, the prostitute began limping towards the door, unmindful of the blood that was streaming down his legs. Duncan felt a tug in his heart at the sight of the quiet dignity of Dhonncaidh's battered form. He then went towards the hustler, embracing him, giving him support. Dhonncaidh gave him a questioning glance. Duncan just smiled as he helped the man outside. Shaking his head, Jules followed after them.

 

 

**CONTINUED IN PART FIVE.**


	6. Part Five

 

**PART FIVE**

 

It was a couple of hours before dawn and Duncan was busy preparing breakfast when the sensation of Immortal presence washed over him. This was followed by loud knocks on the door.

Thinking that Kinsey had followed them, Duncan pulled his robe around his naked body and grabbed his katana. Carefully, he went towards the door, his hands shaking, his heart thudding along to the furious knocking.

Though he knew his reflexes were not as fast as they used to be, Duncan reached for the knob and flung the door open. Before he could even raise his sword, the sharp point of the Ivanhoe was at his throat.

"Methos?" he gasped in shock. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thankful that he had checked his swing in time, Methos hid his sword within the folds of his duster and went inside the apartment, without even a by your leave. Duncan glowered at the ancient as he closed the door.

"You don't seem happy to see me, MacLeod?" Methos commented casually.

"Any reason why I should be?" Duncan queried in turn.

"I've been looking for you for months! I was worried sick about you!"

"Well, you've found me. Now, you can leave." The Scot frowned. "How did you find me anyway?"

"A prostitute helped me. His name's Dhonncaidh," the Old Man answered, gauging the younger man's reaction. "He gave me the address to this apartment."

It took great effort to keep calm but, inside, Duncan was seething. _Damn you, Dhonncaidh! You should never have told him where I was!_

Turning away from the ancient, the Highlander remarked, "I see you've been having fun while I was gone. I don't know why you still bothered to search for me. After all, I wasn't much of an amusement for you."

"Duncan, you know I love you!"

"Was it love or lust that made you rape me?" said Duncan sharply. "Go back to your whore, Methos. I don't need your 'love', or whatever it is you call it."

Out of desperation and sheer longing, Methos yanked Duncan into his arms and began kissing him passionately. As the Scot struggled in his embrace, the ancient pushed him down on the floor. Furious doe eyes glared up at him.

"Are you going to rape me again?" Duncan demanded. "Haven't you had enough that first time?" Lasciviously, he spread his legs wide. "Or are you just hankering for more punishment?"

Methos' hand went down to the small opening, pushing his finger inside. At once, the ring of muscle tightened around it that he couldn't pull it out. There was such exquisite agony in the Highlander's eyes. Despite the pain, Duncan burst into laughter.

"I wonder what it would feel if it were your cock instead of your finger inside me," Duncan jeered him. "Would you like that, Methos?"

 

 

Inside his room, Dhonncaidh woke up to the sound of knocking. At first, he wanted to go out but, as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed, his heart skipped a beat, hearing Methos' voice.

Carefully, Dhonncaidh listened to the exchange between the two men. He heard a scuffle. This was followed by the sensation of heavy, eager lips upon his mouth. He almost gasped when he felt something push into his ass.

"I wonder what it would feel if it were your cock instead of your finger inside me," Dhonncaidh heard the Scot taunt the older man. "Would you like that, Methos?"

"Maybe both o' ye wad like somethin' different this time aroond," the hustler muttered under his breath.

Reaching in the drawer of the night table, Dhonncaidh pulled out a large dildo. It was a frightening thing, a foot in length, with bumps along the shaft, making it two inches at its widest diameter. Though he knew the dildo would be agonizing to take into him dry, the prostitute didn't have time to lubricate it.

"This is for ye, MacLeod!" Dhonncaidh took several deep breaths and, with a whimper, pushed the head inside him.  
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Methos' head snapped up at the sound of that whimper. Before he could ask the figure he had trapped beneath him, Duncan's head fell back and he screamed in pain. To Methos' shock, he felt the pressure around his finger ease.

"No!" Duncan cried in rage, frustration and need. "Damn it, you bastard! Don't do this to me!"

Methos' eyes widened, seeing the orifice between the Highlander's legs slowly dilating.

Suddenly, Duncan spoke once more, but the tone, those words, and that accent... The Old Man knew it belonged to someone else. That same voice was not only coming from the Scot's lips, but also from the bedroom at the back.

"I thought this was wha' ye wanted, Methos," that voice said. "Gae ahead! Let gae o' yer passion! Show him how ye truly feel!"

Unzipping his pants, Methos freed his erection and laid his body fully over the weeping Highlander.

"DON'T DO THIS TO ME!" Duncan begged. The ancient didn't know whether the pleas were meant for him, his hidden tormentor or both.

All Methos could say was "Don't be afraid!"

Taking Duncan into his arms, Methos kissed the younger man tenderly, easing the silk robe open. As his hand closed around a nipple, he pushed his cock inside the dilated anus. When his head brushed the prostate, Duncan cried out in pleasure, instinctively arching his body upward to meet the Old Man's thrusts, though the familiar tremors began to wrack his whole being.  
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Dhonncaidh felt the penetration of Methos' cock more than that of the dildo. As his gland was stimulated, he had to bite down on his arm to stifle his screams. Feeling his nipple harden, a groan escaped his lips.

As the invasion continued, strong tremors washed through his body, threatening to engulf him in pain and fear. Gripping the dildo tightly, the prostitute pushed it in deeper, timing the strokes with Methos' thrusts. With one hard thrust, Dhonncaidh buried it in to the hilt.

Panting for breath, Dhonncaidh lay back on the bed, legs splayed, feeling his ass clamping on the thick latex shaft. Still, Methos' thrusts remained unimpeded. Just as his anus has been dilated to its widest diameter, so was Duncan's channel, granting the ancient full access to the Highlander's moist depths.

"No pain this time, Duncan," Dhonncaidh whispered, a smile on his lips. "Enjoy yourself."  
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"Enjoy yourself," the thought came to Duncan's mind.

_Bastard!_ he screamed inside his mind, knowing that the hustler would hear him. But, yes, he had to admit it, he was enjoying himself.

Duncan didn't know what Dhonncaidh had done to open his anus so wide. The tremors of his body couldn't force it to close. Methos' cock slid in and out effortlessly, the head striking his gland. Add the gentle pressure of lips on his mouth and the fondling of his tits, intensifying the pleasure he was experiencing.

Abandoning himself to his passions, Duncan gripped his cock, stroking it until the pearlescent essence began to drip from the tip. He screamed, exploding in a most intense orgasm that nearly blew his mind, though it caused his penis to gush forth like a geyser. The Old Man came a few seconds after.

Methos wanted to prolong the ecstasy, to just lie on the floor with the Scot in his arms, relishing the searing heat of Duncan's flesh. But when his lover cried out, he had heard two men screaming, not just one, the other scream definitely coming from the bedroom.

Pulling his softening member out of the Highlander's body, Methos swiftly got to his feet and grabbed his sword.

"Methos?" Duncan asked in surprise, still dazed from the coupling.

"There's someone here!" he said under gritted teeth.

"Methos, no!" the Scot cried, but the ancient stormed towards the bedroom, pulling the door open.

The sight that greeted him stunned the Old Man. He had to glance back at Duncan and then at the figure sitting on the bed, but he still couldn't believe his eyes. _There were two Highlanders!_

"What...how...why..." he stammered, unable to form a coherent question.

It was Dhonncaidh who spoke up, a grin on his face. "Well, Methos? Which one of us is real – the Immortal we had once been or the two men you see before you now?"

Suddenly, it just dawned on Methos who Dhonncaidh really was. Six months ago. A chapel in LeHavre. The Dark Quickening. How could he have forgotten that leering visage?

Rushing towards the bed, the ancient grabbed the prostitute's tresses and yanked his head back, baring his throat. As he raised the sword, Dhonncaidh closed his eyes, tears trickling from the corners, submitting himself to the inevitable.

"No!" Duncan leaped on the bed, trying to loosen the Old Man's grip on the hustler's hair. "Methos, don't do this!"

"He's a monster, MacLeod!" the ancient argued. "Don't you remember the terrible things he's done?"

"But he's also a part of me. If you kill him, you might also kill me!"

Methos hesitated, eager to bring his sword down on that neck.

"PLEASE!"

With a grimace, the Old Man grudgingly lowered his blade, releasing Dhonncaidh with a hard push on his head.

The prostitute burst into mocking laughter. "Does this mean ye dinna love me anymore, Adam?"

Losing his temper, Methos slapped Dhonncaidh hard in the face. Although he struck the hustler only, both men's heads whipped to the side. When they looked at him, both have blood trickling from the corner of their mouths. It was Dhonncaidh who couldn't look at the ancient for long. Bursting into sobs, he buried his face in Duncan's shoulder. Though reluctant, the Highlander wrapped his arms around him.

Methos was at a total loss for words. He just found himself plopping wearily on the chair, staring at the two men in utter confusion.

 

 

**CONTINUED IN PART SIX**


	7. Part Six

 

**PART SIX**

 

"I dinna know exactly how it happened," Dhonncaidh said uneasily, unable to gaze at Methos who sat before him. He took a nervous sip from the steaming coffee mug he held in his hands.

Duncan was sitting in a chair between the two men, looking disinterested.

"Just tell me everything," Methos prodded him.

Glancing for a moment at the Scot, Dhonncaidh began once more. "I let Duncan take o'er sa we cad gae ta the spring. I was terrified o' it, but I had ta try ta take control completely, while the Dark Quickening was keepin' me strong. We fought for several minutes in the chamber. For awhile, I thought I wad win, until tha' interloper Sean Burns tauld him wha' ta do. Duncan trapped ma katana wi' his faither's claymore. When he brought his blade across in a sweepin' arc, I thought he had taken ma head. But then I remembered I was no' exactly real, in the true sense o' tha' word. I was only borrowin' his body. Howe'er, somethin' was severed between us – a bond holdin' us together, makin' us one. When the ties were cut, the spring no' only washed away the evil tha' has overwhelmed Duncan, but also ma...essence. At the same time, the waters teuk wha' little Quickening I possessed an' transferred it into him."

Dhonncaidh twiddled his fingers. "I figured I was a goner. I felt ye two leave. Then, the waters o' the spring began to churn, throwin' me this way an' tha'. I dinna know how long I was submerged in it, but it must 'ave been hours. When I broke the surface, night had already fallen. I stepped ou' o' the water, naked as a newborn babe, chilled ta the bone. It was sa cauld, I was desperate ta find a warm nook I cad sleep in. Somehow, I stumbled an' sprained ma ankle. As the pain washed through me wi' no relief, it was then tha' I realized tha' I was no longer Immortal. I was afraid tha' I wad die there from the cauld or from hunger." He gazed sorrowfully at Methos and Duncan. "I was sa afraid tha' I wad die alone. The followin' mornin', though, I heard gunshots. I started callin' for help. A few minutes later, a rope was lowered ta me an' I was pulled up. If I had known back then wha' wad happen ta me next, I wad ne'er 'ave taken tha' rope. I wad rather 'ave died in tha' hole. But as it happened, I teuk the rope an' I was rescued by an Immortal named Gilbert Kinsey."

Hearing that name, Methos hissed sharply. He knew too well the kind of man Kinsey is. His chronicles documented in full detail the depravity he was capable of.

"I see ye know Kinsey," said Dhonncaidh, smiling weakly. "Then, ye probably guessed wha' he did ta me."

"No, I can't imagine," Methos shook his head, suddenly feeling sorry for the young man before him.

Tears welled up in the prostitute's eyes. "Kinsey tauld me tha' I sud repay him for savin' ma life. At first, I dinna know wha' he wanted. I tried ta fight back, but all ma knowledge abou' fightin' went wi' Duncan. I was helpless." Wiping away his tears, he continued, "After he had his way wi' me, whan he foond ou' tha' I had no place ta gae, Kinsey brought me back to Paris an' made me work in his club as a stripper. I sud 'ave been grateful ta him. He cad 'ave sent me doon ta the Basement, but he did no'."

"What's the Basement?"

"Believe me, Methos! Ye wad no' want ta know. Howe'er, I was really suited ta tha' place, especially whan Kinsey discovered tha' I cad no' find pleasure unless he beats an' rapes me." Dhonncaidh shamefully lowered his gaze. "Kinsey just did no' like ta see me in the arms o' other men. I've been workin' in the club for o'er two months whan, one night, while I was performin', I felt a sudden, tight pain in ma ass."

Methos winced, unable to look at the Highlander, who remained silent.

"E'en afore it happened, I've been havin' some...unexplained...feelings inside me. Sometimes I feel happy for na reason. Mostly 'twas sorrow. There were times whan I felt so damned horny I had ta beg Kinsey ta take me. I ne'er e'en thought ta connect it wi' Duncan, until tha' night. After the show, I just foond myself wanderin' in the city, an' ma feet somehow led me ta him."

It was Duncan who picked up the thread. "I was shocked to see him, but I knew immediately who he was – the part of me that was missing. Dhonncaidh told me to go with him. I wanted to refuse, still, I went with him. It felt strange, being with him. However, it seemed so right that we were reunited. We still hated each other though." He gazed meaningfully at Dhonncaidh. "Even up to now."

"Aye, I e'en wanted ta kill him, the same way he tried ta get rid o' me at the spring." A wry grin formed on the hustler's lips. "Of course, I wanted ta give him a guid fuckin' first. ''Tis no' every day ye get ta fuck yer guid side in the flesh. But Kinsey showed up an' spoiled ma plans. He felt Duncan's presence, sa I had ta distract him."

The Highlander grimaced in disgust. "And I felt every damned thing that they were doing. Damned bastard tied me to the bed so I couldn't escape!"

"I thought I was able ta satisfy him. The next mornin', though, I was awakened by a sharp pain in ma ass. I ran ta the guestroom and foond Kinsey rapin' Duncan. Sa I hit him on the head wi' a vase, an' we escaped. We've been hidin' from him e'er since."

"Is this true, Duncan?" Methos asked dubiously. "You've been together all this time? Tell me the truth! Are you his prisoner?"

Duncan shook his head. "Not...exactly. In a way, we're prisoners of each other, not just in matters of sex. There's a force that's trying to pull us back together again, to make us whole."

"Then, why not let it happen? In this state, you're both vulnerable. Duncan's Immortal, but he's not emotionally equipped to handle any difficulties that come his way. He may have the martial arts skills, but he'd rather run than fight. His Immortality, in a way, has become his defense mechanism. He just doesn't have the will to defend himself." The ancient then turned to the prostitute. "On the other hand, you, Dhonncaidh, possess the courage and determination to survive. True you are mortal. But you have the will to survive, no matter how great your sufferings are. The problem is, the very nature of the life you were forced to live has put you in considerable danger." Methos breathed in deeply. "Both of you comprise the whole of the man who is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. One cannot exist without the other. Something must be done to bring you two back together again."

"There's just one problem," said Duncan.

Dhonncaidh immediately continued, "What if we don't want to be saved?"

Methos stared at the two men aghast. "I...I don't understand."

"It's quite simple," the Highlander started to explain. "We don't want to have anything to do with each other. We're happy the way we are."

"Duncan, how could you say that? What about you, Dhonncaidh? Do you feel the same way?"

The hustler couldn't speak for a moment. Though he smiled, there was such deep anguish in his eyes as he answered, "'Tis for the best. The link between us was ne'er tha' strong ta begin wi'. Tha's why it was sa easy for the magic spring ta separate us."

"Now I'm really confused!" Methos rubbed his aching brow. "What link?"

"The bond between Duncan's light and dark sides. Duncan was raised as a mon o' honor. He cannae accept tha' there is a side ta him tha' desires ta do things tha' run contrary ta the way he was raised an' the life he was leadin'. One day, back in 1663, Duncan met Arthur Merchant, an' he became attracted ta him. He cannae believe tha' he wad desire another man. So, I kinda teuk control o' things an' I started ta make overtures towards Merchant. Oh, Duncan was stricken wi' guilt feelings, but secretly he was thrilled ta discover tha' Merchant was just as attracted ta him." Dhonncaidh swallowed hard. "I ne'er knew Merchant an' his men were plannin' ta rape Duncan. He tried ta fight back. Truly he did. But in the end... I had ta make it bearable for him. I had ta take control or else Merchant wad hurt him e'en mair. I accepted the pain for him, an' I liked it. I loved the way they pounded their cocks inside ma ass. I loved the taste o' their come in ma mouth. I e'en let Merchant fuck ma ass wi' the hilt o' his sword."

"I couldn't take what was happening," Duncan declared. "I was so disgusted by the way he made me debase myself in Merchant and his men's clutches. He tried to make me enjoy it. After it happened, I swore to myself never to let him control me again. I promised I would never give him the opportunity to let another man use me again...until we met you."

Dhonncaidh went on, " The first time we met in Paris, we fell in love wi' ye. I wanted ta show ye how I felt, e'en before. I was so jealous whan ye said tha' Amanda wad be free ta date if Kalas teuk ma head. I was e'en mair envious whan ye went on tha' trip wi' Alexa. I had ta 'ave ye, but Duncan wad no' let me. Though he loved ye, his fear kept me captive. In the end, 'twas the Dark Quickening tha' freed me, an' then the spring."

"You saw the man I was when he was in control!" Duncan argued. He was almost hysterical. "God, Methos! He made me rape you!"

"But..." Dhonncaidh was weeping openly now. "But ye said ye did no' 'ave any regrets it happened. Ye said ye liked me tha' way because I was mair honest wi' ma feelings. I know. I've seen it in Duncan's mind!"

The Highlander waved an angry hand to the hustler. "There! Do you see the kind of man he is? Could you blame me for not wanting to be reunited with him?"

Dhonncaidh glared sharply at the Scot. "I'm no' forcin' ye ta accept me! Tha's why I tauld Adam where we lived sa he cad take ye wi' him. After all..." There was such sorrow in the prostitute's eyes. "...he loves ye, mair than he loves me."

"Dhonncaidh," Methos began hesitantly, "despite what happened last night, the things I said to you, you know it's not true."

"E'en if it were so, how long wad it take before ye get disgusted wi' me once mair? Adam, I cannae help the way I am. Duncan is a much better choice for ye. I'm willin' ta let gae, just ta see both o' ye happy. I've spoiled yer lives aneuch."

Methos buried his face in his hands, at a quandary on what to do. He cannot leave Dhonncaidh all alone in the apartment, especially since Kinsey was searching for him. But he cannot bear the depravities he was capable of. Though he loved Dhonncaidh, the hustler was right. He loved Duncan – his good side – more.

Dhonncaidh must have seen the grudging resignation in his posture. As he stood up, there was a smile on his face.

Turning to the Highlander, he said, "Gae an' get dressed, Duncan! 'Tis time for both o' ye ta be headin' home."

 

 

The three men stood at the sidewalk. Methos had just placed Duncan's few belongings inside his Range Rover. When he was done, for a moment, he looked worriedly at Dhonncaidh.

"Goodbye, Adam!" Dhonncaidh whispered, kissing his cheek. "Take care o' yourself!"

"I wish you'd come with us," Methos said wistfully.

"Ye know I canno'. Two's company but three's a crowd." The prostitute turned to the Highlander, who was avoiding his gaze. "Duncan? I'm givin' ye wha' ye wanted. Cad ye say goodbye ta me at least?"

Duncan pressed his hand to his chest, feeling Dhonncaidh's sorrow resonating inside him. Slowly, he went towards the other man, who was once the darker aspect of his being.

"Farewell, Dhonncaidh!" Duncan then leaned forward and kissed the prostitute on the lips.

At once, a force locked them together, demanding a joining. Methos could see it in the way Duncan embraced the hustler tightly, pulling the man closer to him. But it was Dhonncaidh who broke the kiss. There was a questioning look in Duncan's eyes.

"Nay, Highlander!" Dhonncaidh's face was flushed from the heat of the kiss. "As long as ye cannae accept me, we canno' be together. Maybe someday... But the chance o' tha' happenin' is practically nil, isn't it?"

Grudgingly, Duncan nodded his head.

"Gae along, ye two!" Dhonncaidh prodded the ancient. "Forget abou' me. 'Tis better for us this way!"

"Dhonncaidh, I..." Methos wanted to hug the prostitute but Dhonncaidh waved him back.

"Please gae! I dinna want ye ta see a grown mon cry. I've had aneuch o' weepin'."

The Old Man didn't want to leave at first, but then Duncan took his hand, pulling him towards the car. Dhonncaidh turned his back to them, about to go up the stairs.

Suddenly, a bright flash caught the prostitute's eye, and a car drove up the street. Dhonncaidh's eyes widened, seeing a rifle, with its scope glinting on top, poking out of the window. It was pointed at Methos and Duncan.

"LOOK OUT!" he shouted as he ran down the stairs, shielding the two men with his body. Pain slammed into his shoulder as the bullet struck him.

"DHONNCAIDH!" he heard Methos cry out as he collapsed on the sidewalk.

Then, Methos himself fell back, a bleeding bullet hole in his chest.

"NO!" both Dhonncaidh and Duncan screamed as their lover dropped down to the pavement.

The car stopped beside them and three men ran out. Helpless, the ancient saw two of the men grab Duncan, pressing their hands over his mouth, as they dragged him inside the car. The third man lifted a semi-conscious Dhonncaidh in his arms and dumped him in the backseat with Duncan.

"DUNCAN! DHONNCAIDH!" Methos called out weakly, his hands reaching out to the open door. But the door slammed shut.

Before he died, Methos' last glimpse was that of the car as it sped off into the street, taking his two lovers away from him.

 

**CONCLUDED IN PASSION'S RELEASE.**

 


End file.
